


Et In Umbra Mortis

by emperyal_miasma



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/F, Graphic Violence, Incest, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Slow Burn, Tags will change as I update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emperyal_miasma/pseuds/emperyal_miasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty Smith of dimension TLA-91 was forced to abandon his timeline and seek a life in another with Summer and Beth. Determined to put his past behind him he finds work as an assassin for a very mysterious corporation. His sobriquet - The Shadow. He works everyday to carve out his own purpose and tries to bury the dull ache in his heart, left there by the death of his Rick. All he has to do is focus. Just...focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was an immense sea of red.

Glowing, pulsing, voracious red that consumed everything it touched and made breathing unbearable. There was so much destruction and ruin that it was honestly awe-inspiring to witness. But that sense of wonderment was ripped away by the acute terror pounding through his veins. 

Stars were falling, streaking across the bloody sky like fresh wounds opening up. People that had managed to survive the initial impact were running about screaming and attempting to help others and what they could of their loved ones. It was all so futile, though.

No one was going to survive this.

The apocalypse had come, a few millennia too soon. It was anyone’s guess as to why it had started and only one person knew the truth with certainty. He wondered briefly why this was transpiring as his mother and sister huddled close to him on either side - their frantic words unintelligible against the grating screams, roars, and explosions. He was just aware of the chaos surrounding them and the horrific, burning pain eating away at the flesh of his back. He just wanted to die already - wanted to escape his imminent and excruciating death -

All of the sudden reality flipped on its head and he was spiraling down into an unknown oblivion, the wind rushing hard against his bare skin - burning and howling to mingle with the screams of his mother and sister - 

X -

He flew straight up in bed and flung himself halfway down the mattress. It took several seconds of heavy breathing and blinking before he came to his senses and realized it had all just been a shitty dream. With a loud groan he collapsed back down against the pillows and sheets and tried to focus on the steady humming of the ceiling fan and the darkness of his inner eyelids. He willed himself to go back to sleep, thinking about calming and relaxing things to kind of nudge his brain along.

Sleep came slowly and brought with it new dreams. They were hazy and fuzzy at the edges and blended together like pale watercolor paints. Fond memories swirled into fantasies and back and his conscience couldn’t tell what was real and what was imagined.

Rough, calloused hands ghosting over the flesh of his cheeks. Hands worn and hardened from years of inventing and working with dangerous materials and escaping death. Long fingers, elegant and thin like spider legs running through his chestnut curls. Chapped and dry lips pressing against his own and a mouth always tasting of alcohol sucking the breath from his lungs. 

Gentle, stuttered murmurs. Soft laughs between desperate touches. Affectionate threats and fingers laced tight together like woven cloth. Shoulder nudges and stolen kisses and quick embraces. Sneaking through the house at night, muffled symphonies of moans and sighs, tender cuddles, reminiscing until the dawn’s sunlight started filtering in through the blinds. Genuine laughter and hopeful promises for the future that they wanted so badly to believe in. Acting as if nothing had changed between them so no one would grow suspicious even though it was a dangerous walk across the tight-rope for both of them.

 

X -

It was an immense sea of red.

Just when he thought death had appeared and was ready to whisk him off to eternity those rough, calloused hands snatched him up out of nowhere. He was hugged so tightly to that thin, wiry chest now soaked with soot and blood and locked in a vice-grip of strong arms. Apologies crashed through his ear like a deluge - 

“I-I’m so sorry Morty, I’m so sorry. P-please...please f-forgive me, M-Morty.”

A final crushing kiss and the pressing of two pairs of cheeks slick with tears and then reality was flipping on its head. He was falling through the bright emerald portal with his mother and sister as the silhouette of the man he loved looked on before vanishing in a plume of smoke.

X -

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!

His hand instinctively darted out from underneath the covers and smacked the alarm clock off. Rolling onto his back he peeled apart his eyelids with the heels of his hands. The ceiling was illuminated by faint rays of morning light and he felt so exhausted, like he had only just gone back to sleep for five minutes instead of five hours. With a grunt and a groan he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed before standing and stretching. 

He scratched at an itch on his left buttock idly while his brain tried to wake up and suddenly his phone started ringing from the nightstand. He turned with a yawn and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Morty Smith. From the collapsed timeline of TLA - 91. I require your presence in my office in exactly one hour. I have a job that needs to be done and you’re the best Morty for this ah...endeavor,” the cool and calculated voice on the other line spoke. He shifted nervously at the information and scratched the back of his head.

“A-a-alright. I-I’ll be there, b-boss,” he replied, wondering what the hell was in store for him.

“Confirmed. Don’t be late.”

With that the call was disconnected and he tossed his phone carelessly onto his messy bed. He ambled down the dark hallway towards the bathroom to get ready for the day. As he quietly worked his dreams crept into the back of his brain and garnered all of his attention like a room on fire. He hated them - it was the same almost every night. All those memories that he couldn’t rid himself of and all the agony that came with them - suffocating maelstroms of emotions that he was determined not to feel anymore.

He was a Rick-less Morty now, escaped from a doomed timeline that collapsed inexplicably one day four years ago. He had to be strong and calculating and committed to his goals and he couldn’t let all of that bullshit from his previous life affect him anymore.

Morty Smith from dimension TLA - 91 snatched up his phone, keys, and messenger bag and escaped his apartment into the brisk fall morning. 

Focus. You have a job to do. Your old life doesn’t matter anymore.

Focus.

Focus.

Focus...


	2. Ripping Open Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty is assigned to exterminate a Rick in another dimension. It should be an easy job, but things go wrong and Morty is left scrambling for his sanity. Can he go through with this hit, or will he succumb to his memories and emotions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much longer entry than the prologue - hope you enjoy!

The city was quiet for the most part - most people were still in bed or dressing themselves up for a long day of work. He enjoyed the lack of other people though, it made his social anxiety stay dormant and unable to disturb him. His walk was steady as he crossed streets and traveled empty sidewalks to the train station. At some point he was determined to purchase a car but he wasn't so adept at saving his cash so that was still a far off dream. At some point though...he was awfully tired of these daily treks. 

The train was mostly deserted besides a few other people and he took his usual seat while avoiding making eye contact with any of them. He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at the scuffed linoleum. What was in store for him today, he wondered. What kind of hit was he so desperately needed for that none of the other Rick-less Morties could handle it? Whatever it was it better earn him a good paycheck - the new Pokemon game was hitting stores tomorrow and he hadn't missed one of the games yet. 

The train arrived at the downtown station and he exited before any of the other patrons. He made his way down a few blocks from the station and finally arrived at the Office. It was a typical city building, tall and covered in glass windows and completely inconspicuous among the sea of other buildings crowding the streets. Perfect camouflage for the completely less than perfect enterprise it was housing. 

Morty pushed his way past the revolving glass door and entered the sleek, modern lobby. It was done up in pristine glass, minimalist black furniture, and elegant chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. A few other Morties were walking to and fro, consumed with whatever tasks that had been handled to them and they stole curious glances at him as they passed. He didn't return them - they might be the same person, but they weren't the same entity and in his opinion, all of the other Morties were beneath him.

He strode up to the reception desk and tapped his fingers impatiently against the marble while the secretary Morty talked animatedly on the phone. The secretary Morty held up a finger to him as a sign to wait and he rolled his eyes and puffed an annoyed sigh. He eyed the other Morty with contempt, irritated by his pastel blue blouse and perfectly curled hair and the hints of concealer underneath his bright green eyes. Wasn't surprising that the pretty Morties always got the jobs where they'd be in the public eye. Just good marketing, he supposed.

"Morty Smith of TLA-91! How are you?" the secretary Morty asked cheerfully and flashed him a brilliant smile as he hung up the phone. 

"Uh..fine, I-I guess. I need to speak with the boss," Morty told him and returned the smile with a scowl. 

"O-of course! Let me get the key to the-the-the private elevator!"

The secretary Morty rifled through one of the desk drawers and snatched up a small silver key tied with a red ribbon. He handed it over to his counterpart.

"Don't forget to, to bring it back! H-have a nice meeting!"

"W-whatever," Morty grumbled under his breath and walked away. He exited the lobby to the left and entered the brightly lit hallway. The elevator was at the very end of the hallway and he traversed it without speaking to or even acknowledging the other Morties bustling about. He unlocked the elevator and stepped inside, pressing the only button available. 

As the elevator chimed with a tinkling bell of recognition, he took out his phone and checked his messages. The elevator rose smoothly and he saw that Summer had texted him the night before. Typical over-caring sister stuff - checking in on him and practically pleading with him to come join her and mom for dinner one night. He knew he should visit home more often but...it just wasn't like it used to be. It was too hard to go back and pretend like they were where they belonged. 

"Top floor, please exit," a mechanical woman's voice spoke over hidden speakers. The doors chimed open and he stepped out into a dark hallway. There was a long black rug running the length of the floor and the walls were the same color. Extravagant paintings lined the walls, illuminated by small display lights. He reached the imposing blood-red door at the end of the hall and knocked twice.

"Enter," a voice ordered from the other side and he did as it said.

"Welcome, TLA-91," Mortimer Smith greeted him, voice cold and calculating. He peered at him from above steepled fingers and watched as his employee crossed the large room to take a seat in one of the black leather chairs before his massive, ornate desk. "I trust that you've been well since our last meeting?"

"J-j-just fine, boss," Morty replied and crossed his legs. His gaze was hard yet relaxed and it continued to impress Mortimer how much he wasn't afraid of or intimidated by him. This Morty really was of a special breed. "Where's your R-Rick?"

"Off running errands. That none of the office or business Morties can accomplish without...incident," Mortimer answered and reclined back in his chair. He smoothed his yellow silk tie mindlessly for a few seconds before speaking again. "I hope that you're ready for a new assignment."

"Always."

"Excellent. Here's your information file."

Mortimer opened a desk drawer and retrieved a small silver tablet. He put it on the surface of his desk and slid it across to where Morty could reach it. He watched as his counterpart took the tablet and started examining its contents.

"I was contacted by a Summer from another dimension, C-453, to be exact. Apparently that timeline's Rick was responsible for his Morty's recent and brutal death. Now the old man is losing his mind from grief. Totally out of it, unable to function. Huge burden on the whole family. Summer wants us to ah...take care of him," Mortimer explained as he lifted a finger to the black eye-patch covering his right eye. The eye was burning slightly but he refused to mess with it while another Morty was present. He tried to scratch it gently though the fabric but it only aggravated the burning further.

"So why couldn't any of the other M-M-Morties handle this hit? I-I'm just curious," Morty asked as he continued to study the profile of his target. He didn't see Mortimer's amused, vampiric grin.

"You're the best Morty I have, TLA-91. The other assassins I have are good at what they do but you're exceptional. You're smarter than them, hardened by your past experiences. You stand on your own two feet. And you kill like a guillotine; swift, brutal, and effective. Feeling a little conceited today?”

“N-never, boss. L-like I said, just curious,” Morty lied as he placed the tablet back on the desk. “I’ll be off then. B-but I’ll be back for my pay.”

He stood and readjusted the strap of his messenger back before reaching inside it and taking out a portal gun. THE portal gun, to be exact. The one his Rick had shoved in the waistband of his jeans before pushing him through the last portal it would cast in that particular dimension. He dialed in dimension C-453 and shot a glowing green portal into the wall before him.

“Good luck, TLA-91. And remember, have fun with it!” Mortimer called after him and chuckled to himself as his best assassin disappeared in a flash of emerald light. 

\---

“Bastard,” Morty mumbled to himself as he stepped out onto a dark sidewalk. “H-h-have fun with it...dick.” Mortimer knew damn well what had become of his Rick and knew how emotionally taxing and agonizing it was for him when his targets were the other versions of his grandfather. To tell him to ‘have fun with it’ just felt like a blade digging into his chest. 

Morty, refusing to face his emotions, stuffed all of that bullshit into the back of his brain and focused on the task at hand. He was standing across from this dimension’s Smith family home and he saw that all the windows were devoid of light. It did appear to be nighttime - the family was most likely in bed asleep. But from where he stood he could see a thin line of light emitting from the bottom of the garage door and he knew at least one person was awake. 

The assassin dug in his bag for a moment and took out a pistol. He carefully tucked it into the hidden holster tied about his waist and made sure his shirt shielded it from view. This would be his weapon of choice but he did have a multitude of knives hidden on his person and his prized blaster nestled safe in his bag in case of an emergency. He doubted he would need it but he had learned through his past four years of this profession that it always payed to be extra prepared. 

Morty glanced around to make sure that he hadn’t been noticed yet and was put at ease by the quiet and dark houses lining the street. That was one less thing to worry about, he supposed. He strode briskly across the road and approached the garage, thinking about how exactly he was going to gain entrance. Pressing an ear to the cold metal of the garage door he heard that no one was inside, at least not now. He could burn a hole in the metal and climb in that way but that would take several minutes that he probably didn’t have and would allow anyone walking by to see what was to transpire inside the garage. Breaking a window wasn’t an option because of the noise, so that left messing with the locks on the front door. It was risky, but he could always incapacitate the Beth or Jerry that might wake up and come to investigate.

He crept across the lawn while retrieving the set of lock-picking tools he kept in his bag. It took a few minutes of jiggling and cramming and delicate turns of his hand but soon the door clicked open and he was able to enter. He snuck inside and gently closed the door behind him, casting his hawk-like gaze over the foyer and up the stairs. 

Nothing. 

As he silently made his way through the house to the garage like a shadow, a painful sickness settled like a weight in his stomach. His old house was almost exactly like this one, minus some of the tacky pictures on the walls and a better choice of carpeting. He felt like he was creeping through his memories and not a certain reality and it made him feel so nauseous. 

(Focus, you fucking idiot), he scolded himself as he pressed his back against the wall right beside the garage door. (Just focus and get this shit done!) 

It was a good thing he had decided not to burn his way in - there were now sounds of items being messed with and slurred mumbling on the other side of the door. He checked to make sure all of his weapons were ready and in the right places and he swung open the door.

Bent over the crowded, messy worktable was a very haggard looking Rick. His hair was streaked with gray against the blue and it looked more unkempt than usual. The lab coat he wore was stained with what looked like dried blood and it was tattered in some places. The smell of alcohol was almost unbearable - it hung thick in the air like a cloud.

Morty slowly shut the door behind him and when it clicked shut the Rick lifted his head. He turned towards the intruder and his eyes went wide with disbelief.

“M-morty! M-m-my Morty, y-you’re alive!” the Rick exclaimed and stumbled to his feet, obviously hammered and out of his mind. Before Morty could react the Rick was on his bony knees before him and gripping his arms so tightly he thought the bones were going to snap. “I-I-I knew you couldn’t be gone, Morty. I-I couldn’t lose my Morty, m-my precious M-morty.” 

Morty watched in stunned silence as Rick buried his face in his stomach and he felt wet tears soak through the cloth of his black button-down. He wanted to move but it was ironic almost - here he was, broken by the loss of his Rick while a Rick broken by the loss of his Morty clung to him like sinners clung to their vices. For a fleeting second he pretended that it was his Rick and he wanted to tangle his fingers in that blue hair and hold him close and reassure him - 

“I missed you, M-morty,” Rick spoke with a slur and suddenly grabbed the back of Morty’s head and yanked him down to his level. He forced their mouths together and pried open his grandson’s mouth. Morty shuddered - he tasted of stale, sour liquor and it was awful; nothing like the way his own Rick tasted. He wanted to yank away and draw his gun but something was keeping him rooted in place as Rick scraped their teeth together and sucked on his tongue and dug his fingers into his scalp. 

“I love you, Morty,” the Rick said in earnest and Morty felt his hands roaming shamelessly across his body. The touch just made him drown in his memories and to his horror he was incapacitated. 

This had never happened before - he had never succumbed to this before on his jobs. But to his credit, most of the other Ricks he had exposed of didn’t have romantic feelings for their Morties. Those jobs were easy; get in, kill, get out. There was something about this Rick though that just made his heart ache. The desperate way he kissed him, the way he clung to his grandson, the wild and deep hurt glistening in his aqua eyes. 

He didn’t want this Rick to continue suffering like he did.

Morty cupped his hands on the Rick’s cheeks and lifted his head up so they could look in each other’s eyes. There were tears streaming like flooded rivers down the old scientist’s sunken cheeks and it just made his heart shatter further into smaller shards. He took a deep breath and despite the sickness consuming him and the slight tremble in his hands and the emotional agony tearing through his veins he smiled gently.

“I-I-I love you too, R-rick,” he managed to stutter and watched as his grandfather smiled back at him. He trailed his right hand down the cold, wet cheek and slipped it under his shirt. The Rick wrapped his thin arms tight about Morty’s waist and embraced him so tightly he wondered if now his spine would snap in half. His face was buried in his stomach again and he was shaking from his sobs and rambling incoherent words of affection. 

Morty pressed the gun to the right side of Rick’s skull and without a second thought pulled the trigger. 

The gunshot rang out through the garage like a church bell calling for a funeral to start. Rick slumped, lifeless, in his arms with blood pouring like communion wine down his neck and shoulder. Morty knew the gunshot wouldn’t wake the family; every Rick he had run into in other dimensions always had a silencing net covering the garage. He forced his mind to shut down before dragging the corpse of his grandfather to the side of the worktable.

Morty laid him down against the floor and arranged his right arm like he was holding something to the side of his head. He placed the pistol in his palm and backed away until he was pressed up against the garage door. Tears were burning wet and hot in his eyes and on his cheeks and he just stared at the dead Rick in stony silence. 

(Have fun with it!)

He hurriedly dug through his bag for the portal gun and hastily dialed in his home dimension. 

(Have fun with it!)

He shot the portal and practically ran through it, almost collapsing when he stumbled back into the office of his employer. 

“Wow, that only took an hour! Impressive! I wouldn’t expect anything less from the famed Shadow,” Mortimer remarked from his place at the desk. He was framed by bright morning light streaming in through the wall of windows behind him and it just made him seem all the more ruthless, all the more unfeeling. “Come get your paycheck, friend.”

Morty made his way to the desk and took the thick white envelope in his hands. He knew there would be enough rent and grocery money in there with plenty left to spend on whatever the hell he wanted. It was worth it, he was sure. Easy money to just put a broken Rick out of his misery. Right?

“So, did you have fun with it?” Mortimer smirked with a ghastly smile on his face.

“I did,” Morty replied with a forced smile and turned his back on him to head for the door.

“I’ll be contacting you soon, TLA-91! Plenty of other victims out there just waiting to be disposed of!”

Morty didn’t respond. Just unlocked the elevator and escaped into its small sanctuary. As soon as the doors slid closed behind him he collapsed against the wall and buried his face in his arm. Why was he completely losing it right now? Why had that Rick fucked him up so badly?

The elevator arrived at its destination a few minutes later and he practically ran out, desperate to return to his apartment and bury himself in bed for the remainder of the day. He chucked the key at the secretary Morty on his way past, who fumbled to catch it and regarded him with confused eyes. He fled the building and avoided the train, preferring to walk home the long way so he could clear his head.

But it didn’t work.

His head was full of memories and thoughts about his Rick. About his shit-eating grin and his rough laugh and the way he jumped right into danger without a second thought. The way he would playfully ruffle his hair after a job well done and how he couldn’t go back to his room and sleep after he had stolen several kisses from him. All of the times they were working in the garage and the atmosphere just shifted and they gave into their terrible sins and brought each other to the point of ecstasy. 

It was all gone...just memories now.

Morty stumbled into his apartment building and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. His feet carried him down the empty hallway but they didn’t feel real - nothing felt real anymore. He entered his apartment and stripped himself of his bloody clothes and bag. Tossed to the floor without another thought. His bed creaked when he fell onto it and his sobs were muffled by the blankets that he buried himself under. 

He tried so hard to ignore the void in his life left by the death of his Rick. But it seemed like with each passing day it festered and demanded his attention - demanded that he soak it in it. It was becoming too much of a burden to bear. What was he supposed to do?

(Just focus), he told himself as the tears stung his eyes. (Just focus on your job and your life and...just anything else.)

(Just focus.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this series but it's so much fun to work on! If there's anything you'd like to see from this just let me know - I'm always open to exploring suggestions. Thanks for reading!


	3. A Harbinger of Something Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty spends some time with Beth and Summer before returning home from a stressful day on the job. Just as he's getting some rest his boss calls and sends him on an urgent assignment. Nothing out of the ordinary, except he makes one tired, stupid mistake.

(Just go inside. Just open the freaking door, and go inside, and see your family. It’s not that hard. Just do it, you idiot!)

Despite his internal monologue he still couldn’t quite force himself to reach out and open the front door. He just stared hard at the slightly rusted brass handle and his nervous-looking reflection staring back at him. He wanted to believe that he was about to walk into his family home but he knew better - it wasn’t really theirs. It belonged to the original Smith family of this dimension, who had disappeared long before Morty and his family had been tossed there. He didn’t know why they vanished and wasn’t sure he really wanted to know...all he knew was that the house was a gift from Mortimer for his great achievements within the first month of his employment.

“It’ll feel more like home for you three,” the other version of himself had explained as he tossed him the small silver keys. “I know you three have been living in that apartment downtown but this will be better. Make you feel like you three belong here a little more.”

“W-why us?” Morty had asked as he studied the familiar keys resting in his palm. “W-w-why not give it to one of the other M-Morties?”

“They don’t have families to come home to. They don’t have a mother and sister to worry about. I was actually about to sell the property but I feel you could use it for a better purpose.”

And that had been that. The home was fully furnished but devoid of any personal items or mementos and there were no family photos to be found on the walls or bureaus. But other than the lack of having been lived in for a while the house was just the same as the one they had been forced to abandon, just with brighter carpet and paint on the walls and cleaner windows. 

Morty had managed to lived there for a little over four years before he leapt at the chance to escape. It wasn’t that he was looking for a reason to be on his own, it was just he couldn’t walk those halls anymore and pretend like it was their real home. He couldn’t keep sitting in the middle of the cold, empty garage and disassociating in the middle of the night. He couldn’t keep being reminded that they were outsiders here - that they didn’t belong - that things would never be the same. 

“Are you going to come inside or just stare at the door?”

Morty flinched at the sudden voice and he whirled around. Summer was standing behind him in a peachy floral blouse and white pencil skirt, her bright red hair piled up in a messy bun atop her head. Despite her flawless makeup she look tired and ready for a glass of wine.

“S-sorry, I was just uh...thinking about something,” Morty explained with a smile and reached out to his sister. They hugged tightly for several seconds before pulling apart and making their way into the house. “How’s work going? Averted a-any crises lately?”

“Ugh, you would not believe the shit that I’ve been dealing with the past couple of weeks. Remember that benefit gala I had to organize for that cancer foundation, or whatever it was? Yeah - total disaster. The caterers fixed the wrong menu and the florists didn’t show up and basically I was running around all night doing PR. It was such a clusterfuck,” Summer told him as they crossed the living room and entered into the spotless kitchen. She immediately grabbed a bottle of merlot and poured them each a glass.

“Well, you’re making good money so I guess uh...it’s all kinda, kinda worth it, right?” Morty asked while his sister drained half the glass in one swig. She belched gently and rolled her eyes as a wry smile tugged at her lips.

“I guess. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like my job because I do! It’s just super frustrating, you know? Event planning is stressful, even if it does pay the bills. How’s work going for you? You haven’t gotten eviscerated yet so I guess you’re doing pretty well, huh?”

“I like it. It keeps me busy and I get to visit the o-o-other dimensions and kill stuff so...c-can’t complain! Also the money is great. J-just got paid today, actually. Thought maybe I could treat you and mom? W-w-what’s she binge eating lately, Indian food again?”

“Actually, steak and potatoes. And fried asparagus - can’t figure that one out. She’s been cooking steak and carbs at least three times a week the past month. I mean I’m getting my protein but I don’t think I can eat another potato.”

“Aw, geez. Well let’s uh...let’s take her somewhere without any of that on the-the menu.”

The brother and sister stood against the kitchen counter, drinking and talking for a little while longer before they heard the front door open and shut. Their exhausted looking mother came to join them and before Summer could fix her a glass of wine she grabbed up the bottle and drank heavily.

“Wow, rough day at work mom?” Summer asked with a raised eyebrow. “Need me to grab another bottle or…?”

“No sweetie, this is fine,” Beth replied and set the almost empty wine bottle back down on the counter. “Work was rough as always but, what do you expect when you’re operating on humans and not horses?” She laughed gently and quickly swept Morty up in a tight hug.

“I see you’re finally over for a visit! Been too busy to come see your mom and sister? Are we not cool enough anymore?”

“W-what? No mom, just been busy is all,” Morty mumbled into her shoulder as she squeezed him even harder. She finally released him and sighed a little before drinking from the bottle again.

“I just worry about you, Morty. What you’re doing is so dangerous and if anything happened to you…”

Her voice trailed off and her children watched as her eyes watered. They exchanged concerned glances and immediately jumped in at the same time to distract her with whatever random crap popped into their heads. Beth had suffered too much loss in the last four years, more than any mother should endure. She lost both her husband and her father to the collapse of their timeline and neither of her children were willing to see what would happen if she lost one of them too. 

“Okay mom go change, wash some of that sweat off your face, and let’s go. We’re taking you out to dinner,” Summer announced and took her mother’s shoulders in her hands. She steered her in the direction of the living room and pushed her to go upstairs and freshen up. 

“You better not get yourself killed, Morty,” Summer snapped at him when she returned and pointed a threatening finger in his face. “Mom’s been doing a lot better since she graduated from medical school and stopped digging around inside of horses. But you screw that up? And I’ll kick your ass.”

“Geez, Summer! Back it, b-back it down a few notches, would you? I’m not gonna get killed. And besides even if I did, how w-would you kick my ass if I was dead?”

“I’d hunt down your ghost and beat the shit out of it,” Summer answered matter-of-factly before tossing the empty wine bottle in the recycling and grabbing a can of Arizona tea from the refrigerator. “Mom worries about you all the time, Morty. She doesn’t like your job. I mean we all know that it’s what’s best for you but...that doesn’t make the danger any less scary. Mom can’t lose anyone else - it would totally destroy her.”

“She’s not gonna lose anyone else. W-w-we’re not going anywhere. Especially me. I’m too good at my job to wind up dead or something. And you’re an event planner so I doubt you’ll ever get hurt,” Morty told her with a toothy grin as he swiped the can from her and took a quick drink before sliding it back. Summer returned his words with a smile and a roll of her eyes as she tapped perfectly manicured nails against the side of the can. 

“Just promise me you’ll stay careful. I can deal without having a dad anymore but not having grandpa around anymore...it’s tough. And if you weren’t here I really wouldn’t be able to function.”

“Same,” Morty agreed quietly as he folded his hands against the white marble countertop. The passing mention of his grandfather made his intestines curl up and shudder and he had to fight down the memories of his day’s assignment as they clawed up his throat. He still felt traumatized from the way that Rick had clung to him in desperation and the frightening madness that rolled through his eyes like fresh lightning. 

“I know it’s been four years since everything happened, but...it still feels like it was yesterday,” Summer spoke up in a hushed murmur as she leaned her chin against a raised fist. Her normally cheerful gaze was somber and her eyes seemed to search for something as they stared into nowhere. “Grandpa and I weren’t nearly as close as you two were but I still have a hard time with it. I’m proud of you though, Morty. You’ve been strong through this whole thing. I know if Grandpa Rick could see you right now he’d be really proud.”

“I guess,” Morty croaked as his eyes began to sting and burn and threaten to overflow with tears. “Can we not talk about this anymore? I-I just...I just don’t to think about it right now.”

Summer noticed the way her brother’s shoulders slumped forward and the glassy way his eyes shone in the light. His fingers were trembling slightly and he was chewing on his bottom lip like he usually did when something was distressing him. Regretting bringing up that particular topic she quickly changed the conversation to something much more lighthearted and kept him distracted until their mother finally came back downstairs.

An hour later the three of them were sitting in a booth at the newest Asian fusion restaurant that had just opened up downtown. To spare them the nightmare that was parking Morty had used his portal gun to whisk them there in a minute. It took awhile for them to finally get a table since it was so busy but once their appetizers and mixed drinks arrived they unanimously decided it had been well worth the wait.

Morty cherished the time he spent with what was left of his family. It was fun to be able to go out and enjoy their company and swap interesting stories about their jobs and daily lives. Beth and Summer always had some weird stories from the hospital and whatever venue Summer was stuck at and Morty always got excited to regale them with tales about the strange dimensions he had to visit and what his targets were like. Nothing about them as a family was conventional anymore but it was comforting, in a way. They had adjusted well to their new lives over the years and honestly, that was all he could ask for.

Well. Not really.

They were all stuffed to the rafters with spicy cuisine and a little tipsy when they stumbled through the portal back into the house but that didn’t stop them from uncorking a bottle of wine and passing it back and forth on the couch. They talked for a couple of more hours before Beth passed out and Summer started yawning and trying to keep her eyelids from snapping shut. 

“Thanks for coming over Morty,” she slurred a little as they stood from the couch and arranged their mother into a more comfortable position. “I feel like I don’t see you enough. I miss you, y’know? I didn’t appreciate you when we were younger but...but family is important, y’know? ‘S real important.”

“I appreciate you too, S-Summer,” Morty told her in earnest and spread out the plush throw-blanket that usually stayed draped over the couch on top of his mother. “Y-y-you know it's just hard for me to be here, that’s all.”

“I know just...don’t be a stranger, okay? Now go and sleep or something...you got a...got a long day of killing people ahead of you,” Summer ordered as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. 

“Okay, Summer. Go sleep too. You got a long day of dealing with i-incompetent people ahead of you.”

“That’s true. See ya, Morty.”

“Bye Summer.”

\---

It was a little after four in the morning when his cell phone went off and yanked him from his slumber. Somehow the usual nightmare had managed to elude him so when he was woken up he was irritated - he had actually been having a relatively peaceful dream for once. He clawed about on his nightstand for the incessantly ringing phone and finally found it.

“Hello?” he rasped a little irritatedly.

“TLA-91. Wake the fuck up and get your ass down here. I have an emergency I need you to deal with,” Mortimer snarled from his end of the line and without waiting for a response hung up.

“Goddammit,” Morty groaned as he tossed his phone and struggled to find the strength and will to leave his bed. 

After twenty minutes of half-asleep dressing and getting ready he managed to arrive at the Office. He had abandoned his usual commute and had just traveled by portal due to laziness and when he approached the receptionist desk he found Secretary Morty staring dazed and exhausted at his computer screen.

“H-hey, TLA-91. I had to...had to open up down here just for you. M-must be an important assignment from the b-b-boss, huh?” his other version spoke through a loud yawn as he fumbled in his desk drawer for the elevator key. 

“Apparently,” Morty grumbled and stamped his right foot impatiently as Secretary Morty dug around for several seconds. He finally passed him the key, he snatched it away like he usually did, and ignored his way more chipper counterpart’s reminder to return the key on his way out.

Down the hallway. Up the elevator. Down the seriously ‘Edgy’ hallway. Into the office of his boss.

“Finally! I don’t have time to be wasted today, TLA-91,” Mortimer greeted him with vitriol spraying like snake venom from his words. He was dressed casually today in a black button-down and dark-wash jeans and he looked absolutely furious. 

“W-w-where the hell is the fire?” Morty spat at him as he took his seat before the desk. He wasn’t in the mood to be talked down to and glared at his employer with contempt.

“I was expecting a rather lucrative drug shipment at my warehouse this morning. Huge shipment, TLA-91. Makes all of my other shipments look like child’s play. And some bastards have surrounded my warehouse and are holding all my goods and guards hostage until I relinquish the drugs and ten million dollars to them. It’s bullshit! I don’t even know how they found out about the shipment and they’re going to try and screw me over?! Go take care of them, TLA-91. Rip their guts out and smear them all over their faces!”

“Y-y-you expect me to take down an entire g-gang of drug runners? By myself?!” Morty exclaimed and gaped at his boss like he had suddenly just sprouted two other heads. 

“Are you kidding me? It’ll be easy - you’ve taken down larger groups before.”

“With help! W-w-where are all the other assassin Morties?!”

“They’re all on other missions or holed up in the fucking warehouse! Just go - I’ll pay you triple what I usually do. And don’t fuck this up for me!”

“F-fucking bullshit, can’t believe this,” Morty grumbled as he stood and dialed in the coordinates for the warehouse into his portal gun. Mortimer spewed more threats after him as he pushed his way through the elastic surface of the portal and stepped out onto a dark and quiet street.

He was way too tired and irritated for this shit, he thought as he surveyed the front of the warehouse from his place across the street. He leaned up against the brick of the alleyway to size up the guards when he realized that there were none. One of his eyebrows trailed up his forehead in confusion as he looked about in case maybe they were making some rounds but after a few minutes he found that no one was keeping guard at all. And from what he could see one of the steel doors was slightly ajar.

That didn’t seem good.

Morty swiftly crossed the empty street, drawing his blaster from his bag on the way, and he pressed his back against one of the doors. He could hear commotion echoing from inside and after a few seconds several gunshots rang out. Without waiting a second longer he pushed open the door the rest of the way with the point of his shoulder and dashed inside. 

Keeping himself hidden among the shadows and behind large stacks of crates he scoped out the situation. From what he could see several of his counterparts were tied up, gagged, and sitting in a crowd in the center of the warehouse floor. Some he recognized as Guard Morties that were usually in charge of the warehouse operations and a few others he knew were trained assassins like him. Some were openly bleeding from wounds all over their bodies and others didn’t look hurt but just plain terrified. They were just a little overshadowed by the complete bedlam occurring around them, however.

Hulking, multi-eyed aliens that radiated a sickly green glow were running around the space shouting unintelligible commands to one another while firing off complicated looking guns. He couldn’t see who or what they were fighting but he dove into the fray almost immediately, squeezing off rounds and taking out a few aliens that ran past his hideaway. When he was spotted by the assailants and fired at he dropped to his knees and rolled out from behind the crates.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered as a hail of bullets destroyed the crates he had been hiding behind and caused the whole stack to explode, bathing everyone close in fiery yellow light and wooden splinters. He took advantage of the sudden confusion by firing three rounds into the closest alien’s skull. He was splattered with what he assumed was blood but looked more like radioactive goo but it didn’t eat through his skin or clothes so he wasn’t concerned. 

He managed to take out four more of the aliens in rapid succession with just a minor bullet graze to his upper left arm. Something else was killing the aliens but he was too distracted to see who or what it was. After several adrenaline-fueled minutes he lowered his blaster and surveyed the area. Bodies littered the floor now covered in green puddles but it was quiet. That must have been it, he supposed. Thank god, he was ready to be done with this and crawl back into bed. 

He did something he normally didn’t do, and that was leave the area unsecured. He didn’t hear anymore alien drug runners moving about and couldn’t see any other enemies so who cared? He was tired and the wound on his arm from that stray bullet was starting to burn a little.

“You guys are lucky I’m so g-good at my job,” Morty remarked snidely as he tucked his blaster into the waistband of his slacks and walked to the captive Morties huddled together. They stared at him gratefully at first but just as he leaned down to start untying them the ones that were conscious started thrashing and trying to yell through their gags. 

That wasn’t a good reaction.

“What are you…?”

He didn’t get to finish his thought. Because like an idiot, he had let his guard down and didn’t secure the area first before attempting to free his brethren. And now there was something cold and metal pressed painfully into the back of his skull.

“Wow, pretty impressive work. For a Morty,” a voice spoke behind him and he immediately recognized the gravelly timbre. 

It was a Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this chapter is a little all over the place. I started it a few days ago and tried to make it coherent but I'm a little distracted with some personal events. Sorry for the slight cliffhanger - I'll do my best to update again before the end of the week! As usual thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	4. Someone Rotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty is confronted by a Rick from another dimension. Who is he, and what does he want? Things are getting just a little...strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual thanks for reading and hope you enjoy! If you have the chance go bother me on Tumblr at empyreal-miasma; I'm always up for drawing and writing requests. I'll try and update again before the week is up!

He had to admit, he was a little taken aback, a little surprised. Having a gun pressed painfully into the back of his skull by some random Rick from some random dimension was slightly jarring but he was a professional. He could maintain a calm and cool demeanor no matter the circumstances and there wasn’t one dangerous situation he hadn’t managed to escape yet. A little smirk played about his lips and he decided to take a hold of the situation.

Morty moved like a bolt of lightning streaking across a thundercloud - so fast the eye could barely trace his movements. He kicked his right leg backwards as hard as he could and felt his ankle collide with a bony shin. As soon as his foot connected he ducked and felt a fresh bullet speed over his scalp. He dropped to his knees and yanked his blaster back out, aiming it at his assailant’s head.

The Rick only laughed at him as he bent to rub his shinbone - didn’t even adopt an offensive stance or make an attempt to come at him.

Just...laughed.

“W-w-what the hell are you doing here, Sanchez?” Morty demanded, irritated that he obviously wasn’t being seen as a threat. He flicked the blaster’s intensity up to the highest setting and thought about just vaporizing the idiot. “This dimension doesn’t have a true Rick or M-Morty. So w-w-what the hell are you doing s-screwing with our inventory?”

The Rick tilted his head to the side and smirked at the kid’s questions, eyebrow cocked in amusement. He was dressed in a cyan button-down and black slacks, a black jacket draping his shoulders, back, and arms and what looked to be expensive gray loafers on his feet. His electric blue hair was slicked back in choppy, rockabilly layers besides a chunk of bangs draping the left half of his forehead. He had both a silver nose and lip ring and gauges in both of his ears and wrapped about his throat was a black leather collar studded in small silver spikes. And while his accessories were certainly...odd, what really concerned Morty was how young he looked.

This version of his grandfather lacked distinct age lines and creases in his cheeks and forehead. His skin had yet to gray with age and was still a robust tan color that made his ethnicity obvious instead of a faded ambiguity. If Morty had to guess he would say that this Rick looked to be in middle to late thirties, at the most his early forties. He was so weirded out and he was scrambling to figure out how to approach the stranger.

“Slow down M-OOOuuurrgh-ty,” the Rick sneered with a loud belch. He casually reloaded his gun, kicking away the spent shell casings across the floor. “L-let’s get acquainted here, shall we? I’m guessing you’re the reinforcement that weasel M-mortimer sent over? Heh, that’s cute.”

“Y-y-you know I could liquify your skull right now, r-right?” Morty snapped with no effort to mask the irritation in his voice. 

“No Morty I just assumed that blaster in your hand was for decoration. Sure you could kill me, but then you w-wouldn’t find out the reason w-w-why I’m here, right?”

“W-why do you think I care? You’re just another piece of shit scientist trying to f-fuck with our corporation. I-I couldn’t give less of a shit why you’re here.”

“Geez Morty, you’re not a spineless little...little twerp like the rest of these idiots here, huh?” Rick asked as he motioned to the other Morties still trapped a few feet away. “That tells me that you’re ‘special’. L-l-let me guess - you’re this famed Shadow I keep hearing about, huh?”

“Yeah, s-so what? I would say I-I’ve heard of you but you’re w-worthless garbage, so…”

“Holy shit kid I’m this close to just blowing a hole in your arrogant l-little head right now. That attitude is annoying as f-fuck, dawg.”

“W-what the fuck do you want, Sanchez?!” Morty blurted out. His patience for this insipid verbal battle had vanished and all he wanted was to just exterminate this rat and go back to sleep. “You want the drug shipment? Go ahead and take a cut - if it’ll make you s-s-shut up and fuck off - take some!”

“That’s generous of you, kid, but I’m not here for this low-grade shit,” Rick told him and took a few ambling steps towards him. Morty shot up to his full height and kept his blaster aimed on the older man’s forehead. “I-I’m here for you, Morty.”

“W-what?”

At that moment the wall nearest them exploded inwards and sprayed them in chunks of stone and wood. The pair of them stumbled backwards a little from the shock and through the clouds of dust Morty recognized his fellow assassin brethren marching through the wreckage. Finally those idiots had completed their other jobs and were here to help him out, he guessed. Rick took one look at the arriving cavalry and darted through the rows of crates to make his escape. 

“Come back here!” Morty yelled and sprinted after him. The adrenaline was pounding in tandem with his footfalls and he swore his heart was on the verge of combusting. He followed the Rick towards the other side of the warehouse floor and was stunned when the man suddenly whirled around and snatched him up by the lapels of his shirt.

“I’ll be back, Shadow,” he promised in a threatening growl, blue eyes flashing in malice. “I-I-I know more about you than you think. Like where you live, and w-who you work for. Until next time, kid.” He flung him backwards where he hit the floor hard with a smack. Just as Morty scrambled to his feet and went to dive after him the scientist retrieved his portal gun and shot a portal into the wall. Morty’s fingers brushed against the man’s jacket but then he had vanished to another dimension and he was left standing on trembling legs staring flabbergasted at a dirty brick wall.

“TLA-91? Y-you okay?” a voice asked behind him and he turned slowly around. One of his fellow assassins, a shorter and blonde version of himself, was standing behind him with concern evident on his face. “W-what happened in here, man? There’s dead aliens everywhere and the o-other Morties sent on this assignment are tied up? S-seriously, what’s going on here?”

“Just the usual bullshit, XY-27,” Morty answered in an exhausted, hollow voice as he tucked his blaster into his bag and raked shaking palms down his face. “G-glad to see you fuckers finally s-show up. What took so long?”

“Chill, bro. We were on other missions. Y-you know, like usual? A-anyway come help us untie the other Morties. W-we gotta count the shipment and make sure it’s all here.”

XY-27 beckoned for him to follow and Morty rolled his eyes and swallowed the bitchy remark that had been on the tip of his tongue. Sure, he saved everyone’s asses here but yeah make him clean up the mess too. Why not? It’s not like he was the best assassin in this clusterfuck of an organization and who needed sleep? Certainly not him. 

His sarcastic and annoyed thoughts continued as he did as he was supposed to and set about freeing his doppelgangers. The other Morties on the scene were treating those who had been wounded, taking inventory on company tablets, and confiscating alien weapons before removing the corpses. Morty worked quietly and made a concentrated effort to bite back every bitchy quip that formed in his mouth. After about an hour of cleaning up the mess left behind by the confrontation he was finally allowed to leave and return to the Office. He portaled his way into Mortimer’s office and trudged to the desk where he waited impatiently for his paycheck. 

“You look like shit, TLA-91. What the hell happened back there?” Mortimer asked as he looked up from the documents littering his desktop. His employee explained the events in a deadpan drawl but left out the exchange between him and the mysterious Rick. That seemed like information that was classified just for him - no need to go sharing that just yet. 

“Well nice work, as always. Here - I was feeling generous and threw in an extra grand on top of what I promised you. Go treat yourself to something nice, friend.”

Morty took the thick white envelope in his hand and stuffed it down into his bag before lurching to his feet and making his way to the elevator. He didn’t have anything else to say to his boss and had to go give the stupid key back to Receptionist Morty. 

“Before you leave, TLA-91,” Mortimer spoke up suddenly and watched as his counterpart stopped in his steps and slowly turn back to face him. “Don’t do anything to jeopardize your position here. You may be the most valuable Morty I have but you’re not indisposable.”

“W-what the hell brought that up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a gentle reminder between friends. You can go now - I’ll be in touch.”

Mortimer waved him off and returned to his work, completely oblivious to the ugly and disgusted expression on his employee’s face. Morty felt his eyes almost roll back into his skull and he wasted no time in stomping into the elevator and getting the hell out of there. As usual he threw the key at Receptionist Morty on the way past, ignoring his jovial attempts to speak with him, and stormed out of the Office lobby. 

“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered to himself as he shot a portal and walked through it. He stepped into his living room and threw his bag onto the couch before peeling off his clothes and making a beeline for the shower. “I-I mean I know I can be a real p-piece of shit but that guy? He’s the biggest piece of shit Morty out there.” 

His perturbed grumblings continued even after he had scrubbed himself clean and dressed the minor wound on his upper arm, and his bad mood still hadn’t deteriorated by the time he was pulling on a pair of yellow boxers and collapsing onto his unmade bed. He lay face-first into his favorite pillow and thought about just suffocating himself but remembered his promise to Summer about not letting anything happen to him.

(God, just fuck everything.) He thought as he rolled over and stared up at his ceiling fan, whirring in an endless circle. The desire to sleep was overtaking him but his mind couldn’t rest from the sudden onslaught of rapid-fire thoughts. Who the hell was that Rick and what the hell did he want with him? What dimension was he even from and why did he look like punk trash? Did he see him as a threat? Was he going to try to kill him? But seriously why did he need all those piercings and a collar? That was so much overkill…

Eventually Morty was able to sink into the depths of slumber and to his relief he dreamt of nothing at all. The only thing that comforted him as he slept was the fact that he would seek out answers and spend his paycheck on whatever ridiculous shit he wanted.

\---

“I-I’m sorry dude, but what?”

Morty looked up from the game case he was holding and eyed his friend with what could almost pass for sympathy. He couldn’t help but laugh a little to himself at her confusion and decided to try explaining what had happened again.

“It’s just like I said, there was a-a Rick there. I don’t know w-w-what he wanted because he never said, but he told me that he had gone there to see me. How w-weird and creepy is that?” he asked as he held up the other version of the same Pokemon game he was currently pursuing. He could afford both but knew that it would be all the rage at the Office for the next couple of months and constantly switching between games was just too much of an inconvenience for him. 

“That’s weird as balls, Morty,” Morticia admitted as she took to contemplating which version of the game she was going to buy. “W-w-why would a Rick be looking for you? You’ve lived here for w-what, four years? And this has never happened before? What the hell, man?”

“I don’t know,” Morty sighed as he decided on the apocalypse version and placed the other back on the shelf. Morticia saw his choice and snatched up the one he put back - surely the saviour edition would be just as good. “I-I mean not to sound like a dick but, I do have a reputation for being really good at my job. Maybe that Rick is a rival assassin or something and he’s been hired to t-t-take me out. That kinda makes sense, right?”

“Honestly? No,” Morticia said as they wandered into the Xbox section of the video game store. “But there’s one thing that all M-Morties know, and that’s that Ricks are disturbed and deadly.” Morty cast a sideways glance at his friend and took note of the hard expression on her face. 

He didn’t know a whole lot about her backstory but from what he had heard from the other Morties and Morticias about the Office, this one in particular had come from a fucked up situation. There were several rumors about exactly what kind of nightmare she had crawled out of before arriving at the Office but the one that seemed to hold the most weight was that she had disposed of her Rick herself. The details were a mystery but it wasn’t such a far fetched idea taking into account her higher-than-average-Morty IQ and skill with a sharp blade. This Morticia was a force to be reckoned with and in his opinion, his only other co-worker that could stand up in a fight with him. 

“Not all Ricks,” he couldn’t help from mumbling under his breath and he watched Morticia inflict a death-stare right at him.

“R-really dude? They’re all the same garbage excuse of a h-human being. I’m sure your’s acted all kind and caring but he was still the same as the rest of them - rotten.”

“W-wow, Miss So-Edgy-I-Got-Cut-Just-Listening-To-You,” Morty snorted. “B-by that logic that would mean that all of us M-Morties were the same deep down and we all know that’s to-to...complete bullshit.”

“Okay Edgelord, fine. I-I’ll agree with you on that. But none of that explains why this Rick wants something to do with you. A-and he said he knows all this shit about you? That’s freaky, dude. M-m-maybe he’s just a stalker and he wants to skin you and wear your flesh like a suit. Ha!”

“Thanks Morti, that uh...that makes me feel a lot better.”

After finally getting bored with looking around the store they ambled up to the counter and paid for their new games. They left and engaged in a heated argument about exactly what they should eat for dinner and eventually decided on pizza. Morty was grateful for the friendship he had with this particular version of himself - she wasn’t an idiot like most of the others and she always managed to impart practical advice. Even though she was being less than helpful in this instance she still made good company and was someone he felt comfortable confiding in. 

They swapped more theories about Morty’s ‘stalker’ Rick over greasy, artery clogging goodness and talked a whole lot of shit about their boss. Stories about their latest missions were also exchanged and by the time they had finished eating Morty was in a way better mood than he had been earlier in the day. He just felt...better about things. 

“Well, keep me updated, okay? T-this is just too weird - I’m enthralled,” Morticia told him with a devilish grin as they stood together on the busy sidewalk. It was getting late and the city was coming alive with its thriving nightlife and the throngs of people were starting to make Morty anxious. 

“Don’t worry - I got you,” Morty said with a smile and bid her goodnight with a promise to text her updates if he didn’t see her at work. They parted ways and Morty quickly made his way back to his apartment. He was still exhausted from the events of the day and was dying to start a new Pokemon adventure before he fell asleep. Humming to himself he unlocked his front door and entered his apartment and…

Something wasn’t right. 

He slowly shut the door behind him and stared straight ahead at the threshold of the foyer. The lamps in the living room were on. He never kept them on when he left his apartment - it was a waste of energy that came out of his paychecks. His right hand instinctively snatched a pistol from his bag and he clicked the safety off before creeping forwards to see who, or what was currently waiting for him.

He managed to take two steps before that familiar voice called out in the silence.

“Just get in here, M-OOUUurrgh-ty. And lower the gun, you don’t need it.”

Morty refused to make himself vulnerable and he entered his living room, pistol still raised before him. There, seated in his hand-me-down armchair was the mysterious Rick, grinning at him in a way that unsettled him to his core.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d be back, kid. N-now sit down. We have some interesting matters to discuss.”


	5. Disturbing Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty and Rick have a conversation that leaves Morty reeling and desperate for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking awhile to update - life has been kind of hectic. I also apologize for all of the exposition in this chapter. I promise the next chapter will be action-packed! As usual thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and come bother me on Tumblr at empyreal-miasma!

“Give me one g-good reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off,” Morty hissed through gritted teeth as he kept Rick’s forehead in direct line with his gun.

 

“Really Morty? We’re gonna, gonna go through this song and dance again?” Rick asked with a roll of his eyes. He pulled a black flask out of nowhere and unscrewed the top before taking a long swig. “Y-y-you kill me and you kill all chances to know w-what the fu-UUUU-ck is going on.” 

 

Morty winced at the disgusting belch and against his better judgement, he lowered his weapon. He didn’t click the safety on and he didn’t bother stowing it away. He wanted to be prepared in case this fucker tried anything stupid.

 

“What the hell do you want, Rick? I-I’m not really in the mood for this bullshit,” Morty told the older man as he tossed his messenger back onto the couch before flopping onto it. He held his gun in his lap as his nimble fingers drummed impatiently against the handle. 

 

“S-slow your roll, playa,” Rick smirked as he leaned his right arm against the arm of the chair and rested his head against it. There was something menacing glittering in his bright blue eyes that made goosebumps rise all across Morty’s skin. “We’ll get there. H-help me understand something first. How the hell did you wind up in this dimension working for that stupid fuck M-Mortimer?”

 

“That’s what you want to know?”

 

“To start with, yeah.”

 

“I’m not telling you the first part. I-I don’t tell anyone about that, especially not assholes like you.”

 

“Fair enough. Second part then?”

 

Morty raised a hand to his lips and nibbled on a cuticle for a second. Why was he going to entertain Rick’s questions? The idiot had broken into his apartment and was just sitting across from him like they were old buds hanging out, not two trained killers seeking answers. He should just shoot him and dump the body in the incinerator at work; just shoot him and get it over with. But something about this Rick intrigued him and there was something pulling him towards him, something gravitational and unexplainable.

 

“F-fine. There’s not much to explain, i-it just kinda happened…”

 

\---

 

“Welcome, Morty Smith. I must say, I am quite excited to finally meet you.”

 

He stared across the black, ornate desk littered in folders and papers and a random assortment of pictures at his counterpart and wondered for the hundredth time what he was doing there. He supposed it was just part of his sixteen year old naiviety to accept an invitation for a meeting from a mysterious voice over the phone. The voice had promised him stability and opportunity though, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist it. So he had left his apartment that afternoon and made his way to the nondescript yet towering office building downtown and entered without a second thought. 

 

He was taken aback to see that all the patrons of the building were alternate versions of himself and couldn’t figure out why such a multitude of them were gathered in this dimension. The questions were pushed into a box in the back of his brain when he was directed to a special elevator. He rose up through seemingly endless floors until the door whisked open to reveal a hallway lined with graphic, disturbing paintings. Mostly of Morties brutally murdering assailants, or leading revolutions, or dancing covered head-to-foot in blood. It was almost surreal to see such strange depictions of himself but he just shrugged and made his way to the intimidating black door at the end of the hall.

 

A single knock gained him entrance and he stepped into a huge office decorated with shades of black and red. The entire back wall was an enormous window that offered a breath-taking view of the bustling metropolis before it and there was music playing softly - it sounded like a movement from the Rite of Spring but he couldn’t be sure. In the center of the room sat a large desk with a single chair both in front of and behind it. The black leather chair behind the desk swiveled around and he was faced with another version of himself. This one was dressed exquisitely in a black suit with yellow tie and a black eyepatch draped across his right eye. 

 

And there he was, sitting awkwardly before himself wondering why he was there and why he had even come in the first place.

 

“First things first, my friend. What dimension are you from?” the other Morty asked pleasantly as he steadied a pen above what looked like a form. The stutter always found in their kind was noticeably missing and Morty couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

 

“I-I-I’m from dimension TLA-91,” he answered and watched the other Morty scribble his answer down on the paper.

 

“Ah, the collapsed timeline. Yes, I heard about that not long after it happened. Was it just you that managed to escape? Or…?”

 

“Me and S-Summer, and Mom.”

 

“No Rick? Good. I had a feeling he hadn’t survived but just thought I would make sure. That’s wonderful - means you’ll fit in just perfectly here.”

 

“I-I’m sorry, but where is ‘here’ exactly?”

 

“This is my corporation, TLA-91. A sanctuary for all Morties abandoned by their Ricks, where they can live in safety and work to support themselves. I offer them all shelter in exchange for their employment. So when I discovered that yet another Rick-less Morty had stumbled into this dimension I had to reach out,” the Morty across from him answered as he steepled his fingers and gave him a sly smile. “It may seem like a noble cause, but I have to look out for number one, right?” He chuckled and grabbed up the pen again.

 

“So, I already know a little about you based on your dimension but tell me about yourself, TLA-91. Help me find the perfect position here for you at the Office.”

 

Morty stared bewildered at him and he gaped for a second before words finally came out. Who said that he wanted to be employed here? He barely knew anything about this corporation or the Morty sitting across from him. And he was only sixteen - what job could he possibly do that would benefit anyone? But despite his reservations and confusion he answered as best he could.

 

“W-well...my Rick taught me a lot of uh...s-self defense? And how to kill something without causing a commotion. I-I know how to take out one hundred and fifty different species of alien with just a knife so uh, I think that’s pretty cool. Not sure what you could do with that, but…”

 

“Hmm...interesting. Tell me more, TLA-91,” Mortimer ordered in a low voice as he furiously wrote down what Morty was telling him. Morty winced and stared down at his hands for a second as he scrambled to come up with more attributes about himself. Shit, was this supposed to be so hard?

 

“Oh geez...um...I-I’m pretty good at shooting weapons. Blasters, guns, cannons, p-p-pretty much anything. I also know how to hotwire cars. That uh...that particular skill came in handy for me and Rick loads of times.”

 

Morty laughed gently at the memories that suddenly took hold of his mind but when he looked at Mortimer he saw that he was less than amused. The chuckles quickly died in his throat and he snapped his mouth shut, waiting for whatever other questions this mysterious Morty had for him.

 

“So...it is a common trait among us to have reservations about callously murdering other individuals. We fall victim to having...morals. How do you feel about being a killer for hire? You’d be able to travel to different dimensions and planets to take out targets for pay.”

 

Morty pursed his lips and stifled a snort at the mention of having morals. He certainly didn’t think he had any after engaging in a sexual relationship with his late grandfather. And he had done his fair share of killing back in his home dimension. He definitely wasn’t the typical breed of Morty so being an assassin? That fit his skills and mindset pretty well.

 

“I’ll do it,” Morty said and Mortimer reached a slender hand out and they shook, grips tight. 

 

“Great. Welcome to the team, TLA-91. I’ll have my senior assassins give you some training starting tomorrow. Report back here in the morning, ten o’clock. Tell B-257 to send you to the atrium when you check in. Everything else will be handled from there,” Mortimer explained as he dug around in a desk drawer. He took out a small black box and slid it across the desk to Morty. “Take this. A small token of my appreciation and something physical to represent your commitment to our corporation.”

 

Morty cocked an eyebrow and took the velvet-covered box in his hands. He flipped open the top and saw a gold pin resting against a maroon cushion. It was shaped like a diamond with an elegant “M” carved into the center. The rest of the surface was decorated with intricate swirls and it glistened beautifully in the light.

 

“Uh….thanks?” Morty said as he took the pin and clumsily attached it to the lapel of his jacket. 

 

“Thank  _ you _ , friend. I’m excited to see how you fit in here. I have a meeting soon so you can see yourself out. Don’t forget about your appointment tomorrow.”

 

“I won’t,” Morty promised and stood to his feet. He left the office with his head spinning and Mortimer’s gaze burning a hole in his back. 

 

\---

 

“And that’s all that happened,” Morty said with a shrug as his fingers instinctively drifted up to the pin on his jacket. The cool gold beneath his touch stirred something in him, something he couldn’t quite recognize.

 

“Jesus Morty, i-i-it’s that easy to just rope you into something? Y-y-OOuu don’t have a brain? D-don’t bother to question anything? Fuck,” Rick said as he rolled his eyes and glared at the alternate version of his grandson. 

 

“I...I-I don’t know. I wanted to do it. I needed something to distract me from…”

 

Morty’s voice faltered and fell into silence as his eyes bore holes into Rick. 

 

“Distract you from what?”

 

“Forget it. It’s none of your business,” Morty snarled in response and Rick was taken aback by the sudden vitriol. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face at the fact that he almost brought up his own Rick’s death. He didn’t talk about that - ever, to anyone. “Now are you gonna t-tell me what the hell you want with me?”

 

“Alright kid, shit. I’m gettin’ there. I gotta throw some stuff atcha though and you gotta-you gotta promise me you won’t lose your shit,” Rick told him as he raised his flask back up to his lips and took a long drink. A sick feeling curled up inside Morty’s stomach and he apprehensively nodded.

 

“I-I can handle it. Just tell me so you can get the fuck out of my apartment.”

 

“So here’s the deal M-OOuugh-rty,” Rick started, accenting his name with a throaty belch. “I’m Rick Sanchez from dimension Y-X25. I-It’s a dimension where at the age of e-eighteen you can decide to stop aging. Scientists wasted their time with figuring out the secret to eternal youth instead of doing something actually worthwhile but, w-w-what the fuck ever. A-anyway, your Rick and I kinda ran together. There’s a group of us. W-we uh...dabble in a lot of illegal shit that pretty much every government and the bullshit Council of Ricks disapproves of. Well, there’s twenty of us Ricks and a f-few Ritas - well, there  _ was  _ twenty of us. Now we’re down to fifteen.”

 

“Y-y-you knew my Rick?” Morty spoke up in a shaky voice as Rick Y-X25 drained the final contents of his flask. He wasn’t aware of the fact that his fingers were picking at each other to the point of mild bleeding but he could feel his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. 

 

“Don’t know how to listen? Yeah Morty that’s what I said,” Rick sneered. He tilted his head back, let loose a final, hideous burp, and then continued. “The thing is, five other Ricks have gotten picked off. Killed. Including your’s. Now normally w-we’d just assume it’s because we get into dangerous shit. But this is different. This is by design.”

 

“Wait, stop,” Morty interrupted and held his hands out in front of him. “Y-y-you aren’t saying that...my Rick...was killed on purpose? O-our whole timeline collapsed, no one can do that!”

 

“If no one could do it then how did it happen, Morty?” Rick smirked as he stood up and crossed into the spotless kitchen. “Got any beer?”

 

“Bottom shelf,” the brunet said robotically as the alternate version of his grandfather rifled through his fridge. He felt numb. He couldn’t feel his own skin or his heart beating or the fact that his fingernails were digging so hard into his knees that his knuckles were shot white. 

 

“Here, kid.”

 

His watery eyes drifted upwards and he saw Rick extending a beer to him. His gentle tone had taken him back a little and he took the bottle without a word. 

 

“So...w-w-what else were you gonna tell me?” Morty asked in a whisper as he gazed across the few feet to Rick. The older man cracked open the beer and downed half of it before answering.

 

“Well...me and the others started investigating the deaths. Trying to find some sort of common thread, some connections or something. And we noticed that in the other four cases not only w-were the other Ricks killed, but the rest of the family too. A-a-and if not the whole family, then at least the Morty was taken out. It’s shady as fuck, bro.”

 

“So I should be dead?”

 

“Technically? Yeah. But your Rick knew something. W-wasn’t totally unaware of what was gonna happen to him. He managed to save you and your Beth and S-Summer. Impressive shit.”

 

“Look, I-I don’t understand any of this shit. How do I know you’re not just fucking with me? You’re a Rick, after all.”

 

Rick stared at him in silence for a few seconds, expression solemn. He averted his gaze to the hardwood floor for a moment before smiling sadly and locking eyes with Morty again.

 

“Because they tried to come after me, too. They almost snuffed me but didn’t. Thing is, they took my Morty. Stole him away and sent him back in neat little pieces in a nice little box. I’m here for your help, M-Morty. In more ways than one,” Rick told him, voice serious and earnest. For a brief second Morty saw his own Rick reflected in those startling blue eyes and something yanked hard on his heartstrings. 

 

“Why should I help you?” Morty whispered, suddenly becoming aware of how violently his hands were shaking. 

 

“Because I know you wanna find out the truth about your timeline collapsing. Y-y-you probably wanna avenge your Rick’s death, too. And there’s also the fact that the killer is probably trying to seek you out and finish the job.”

 

Morty finally cracked open his beer and took a deep swig. If there was ever an occasion where  he needed alcohol, it was this one. He knew this one bottle wouldn’t do anything for him but he hoped maybe it would inebriate him at least a little. There was a maelstrom of emotions and reservations and fears storming about his insides and he wasn’t able to tame any of it. It was just so much - too much to deal with.

 

“Fine. I-I-I’ll help you,” Morty spoke up and shot a hard gaze at the now grinning Rick. “But the second I find out y-you’re fucking with me, I’m blowing your f-fucking brains out.”

 

“Fair enough, Morty,” Rick said and reached out his hand. He extended his own and they shook on it. For a brief second the touch reminded him of his grandfather’s hand and he found himself yanking himself away almost immediately. 

 

“Welp, it’s been real, kid. Gotta get back to my own dimension now. Or the one I’ve taken up residence in since...well, I almost got eviscerated,” the blue haired man announced and chuckled to himself. He stood up, bones cracking as he stretched and he tilted his head to the side, piercings glinting in the light. “D-don’t try to think about it so much, Morty. I-I know we just met and I’m not the most trustworthy guy around, but...I got your back. D-don’t even trip, dawg.” With that he ruffled Morty’s hair and grabbed a portal gun from his lab coat pocket. Morty watched with wide eyes as he shot a portal into the living room wall and disappeared through the pulsating green light. 

 

Morty touched the top of his head and just sat there, frozen for a couple of seconds. When he finally came to he quickly downed the rest of his beer and stood to trembling feet to fetch another. And another. And another until he was so drunk he wasn’t able to think straight.

 

After six more beers he stumbled into his bathroom and pissed for a solid minute before nearly collapsing into the toilet. He managed to catch himself and make his way back into the hallway as the world swam before his eyes. Somehow he got into his bedroom, where it took him five laborious minutes of struggling to remove his shirt and pants. Once he was stripped down to a black tank top and boxers he fell face-first into bed and lay there unmoving. 

 

Nothing made sense. He may have gotten some answers but now there was just a multitude of questions that were burning every room in the back of his brain. There was no telling what kind of bullshit he was on the verge of getting dragged into, but he had to overcome it. Had to survive. He just had to focus.

 

Just...focus. 


	6. New Wounds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty gets hurt on the job, Morticia worries about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in forever but life has been hectic and I've been spending most of my time working on my original pieces. Will start updating semi-regularly again soon. Anyway. Have this almost 3000 word bullshit.

“You look like a noodle with limbs, how the shit are you so heavy?” Morty grumbled under his breath as he dragged the alien corpse to the rooftop incinerator. He tossed it unceremoniously onto the cold steel and took a moment to catch his breath. A thin hand reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow and a few seconds later he lifted up the corpse with a grunt and hurled it into the incinerator. The flames greedily accepted the offering and the alien vanished from view in half a minute. 

 

“That should be the last of them on this building,” the assassin murmured to himself as he readjusted his bag and made his way back to the front of the rooftop. He paused for a few minutes to study the scene below.

 

Havorkian servants were rushing to and fro setting up chairs and decorating a large opalescent stage, ordered about by what he assumed were royal advisors. The skinny, noodly aliens worked quickly and efficiently despite their frail-looking bodies and within about twenty minutes the courtyard was resplendent in shades of silver and yellow and enormous flower arrangements. It would still be another thirty minutes before guests were allowed to enter and another twenty after that when the monarch would arrive to give its speech. So all he could do now was sit, and wait, and get consumed by his thoughts.

 

Morty slunk away from the railing and retreated into the shadows cast by the receiving tower above him. He slid to his bottom and sat there a few seconds before yawning and leaning his head back against the steel wall. Normally he would be more alert but this was a simple job and he had learned on previous missions that the Havorkian race was not especially skilled at combat. Besides, he had already taken out the five guards that had been ambling about the roof and he doubted they had backup.

 

Another yawn escaped him as he dug out his phone from his bag and checked his notifications. Through half-lidded eyes he saw that Summer had sent him a few texts detailing some ridiculous bullshit that went down at work and Morticia had texted to check in on him. His thumbs typed up responses on instinct as his focus was elsewhere and he puffed a chunk of chestnut bangs out of his face as he set the phone down and reclined against the steel wall. 

 

It had been about a week since his encounter with the mysterious Rick and his head was still reeling like a child’s top spun out of control. He hadn’t slept much because his mind kept running even after he hit the pillow, exhausted, and now his typical nightmares were getting more disturbing. Scenes of the apocalypse mixed with strange torture scenes of him being cut open while still awake mingled with black hooded faces chanting at him in unintelligible tongues. Maybe it all meant something, maybe it didn’t. But holy shit was he ready for it all to stop so he could finally sleep longer than hour without flinging himself awake on the verge of pissing. 

 

His phone buzzed gently against his thigh.

 

_ Yeah okay I know that’s all bullshit, dude. What’s really going on? How are you actually feeling?  _

 

Morticia must be part clairvoyant if she was able to see through his fake-content response. Well, there was no harm in engaging in a conversation with her - he still had a while before he could fire off a gun.

 

**I’m just dealing with shit right now, that’s all. Don’t really wanna talk about it.**

 

_ Talking will make you feel better, dude. It always does. Don’t fight me on this and just tell me what’s going on.  _

 

**Uuuuuggghhh. Fine. I told you everything that crackpot Rick said, right? Well I just can’t deal with it all, I guess. I didn’t think that my Rick kept secrets from me. Stupid I know, since he’s a Rick but still...there must be so much I never knew about him and it makes me feel lost and disconnected.**

 

_ You know what your problem is? You dwell too much on the past. Wake up dude! Focus on the present. What’s done is done, you know?  _

 

**It’s not that easy, Morti. I can’t just let my entire life go.**

 

_ Bro. Your past doesn’t define you. All of us Morties have fucked up pasts and come from terrible shit but we move past it! We figure ourselves out and then start our lives. For ourselves, no one else. You need to worry about who you are without your Rick and what you want out of your life. Get philosophical, dude!  _

 

**Deep thinking isn’t really my thing, Morti.**

 

_ Yeah, I know. We’re both cut from the same idiotic cloth. Just think about it. Figure things out. Journal or blog about it - it’ll make you feel better to get all your thoughts and feelings out. Just trust me.  _

 

**That sounds really tedious and awful but I guess I’ll try it. Thanks for your infinite, unexplainable wisdom.**

 

_ It’s what I do. We can’t all be dumbasses. See you at work!  _

 

The young assassin groaned and rolled his eyes almost into the back of his head. He stuffed his phone back in his bag after checking the time and buried his head in his hands. Morticia’s advice was interesting, but it didn’t seem like something that would actually benefit him. God, he just wanted to go back to sleep….well, he did have a little bit until the actual ceremony started, maybe he could just...rest his eyes some…

 

Morty jerked awake when he felt something cold and metallic pressing hard into the space between his eyeballs. He found himself staring down the barrel of a plasma blaster and surrounded by several Havorkian guards. They were speaking to each other in strange tongue clicks and he wanted to kick himself for falling asleep and stupidly thinking no other guards would patrol this building. There was a booming electronic voice sounding from the courtyard that signaled to him that the ceremony was about to begin and his kill-timer was beginning to wind down. Lucky for him his reaction speed and problem solving skills were extremely fast.

 

Morty flung his right foot upwards and it collided with the barrel of the guard’s gun. A round was squeezed off out of shock and it burned a hole in the steel where his head was just a moment ago. The guards were so startled they all began screaming and panicking in unison at the damage, and didn’t even notice when Morty had stood back up and retrieved weapons from his bag. When they did notice it was too late as a pair of bullets ripped through the nearest guard - one through the chest and the other through the brain. He immediately grabbed the corpse and used it as a shield against the plasma bursts suddenly raining down on him. 

 

He didn’t have time for this bullshit. The Havorkian monarch wouldn’t be in perfect shooting range forever and he wouldn’t get a chance like this again for fuck knew when. He dragged himself and his makeshift shield backwards until his foot knocked against the railing. With a glance behind him he saw the ceremony continuing and his target stepping up to the unoccupied podium. 

 

The squad of Havorkian guards were approaching him with blasters primed and they were shouting at him in their odd language. Morty kept his gun trained on them and let the corpse flop to the roof with a sickening ‘ _ slap _ ’. What he was about to do was extremely risky and honestly stupid, but he didn’t have much of a choice at this point. Especially since there was a multitude of new guards rounding the corner with blasters ready to kill. Slowly he raised his free hand into the air and clicked a button on his gun. He then placed it on the roof before him and kicked it over to the guards.

 

The lead guard stamped one of its taloned feet over the gun and signaled for the others to move in and take Morty into custody. He watched them for a second before yanking his portal gun from the waistband of his jeans and flinging himself over the railing - 

 

**_BOOM!_ **

 

His gun exploded before the guards could react and down below the ceremony screeched to a grinding halt. Patrons were screaming and jumping from their seats as fire raced to consume every inch it could. Morty didn’t waste time to watch his handiwork and instead steadied his portal gun in both hands atop the wire connecting the roof to the stage below. Without a second thought he leapt from the building and rode the wire like a zipline, tearing all the streamers and pennants on his way past. Another mighty explosion rocked the air once the fire reached the flammable energy reserves and Morty would have laughed if he could - those were the equivalent of huge gas tanks stupidly bolted to the roof. 

 

Man, the Havorkians were  _ really _ not an intelligent species.

 

Morty kicked his feet out and smacked into the hard surface of the stage back-drop. His bones rattled at the impact and threatened to snap once he fell to the floor. Teeth gritted, he forced himself to stand despite the pain and charge at his target. The monarch was still standing at the podium, stupidly watching one of its towers get annihilated. The guards on either side of it were mesmerized as well despite the screaming and chaos and Morty couldn’t believe just how idiotic those things were. Just as he drew his pistol and went to aim they seemed to snap out of it, grab the monarch, and begin an escape to safety.

 

“Fuck!” Morty yelled and fired shots at them regardless. Two bullets hit the podium but the other pierced through one of the monarch’s appendages and it let loose a horrifying, grating wail. The guards whirled around to find the source of the shots as Morty ran closer and put the rest of his bullets into the monarch’s back and head. He watched as the guards zeroed in on him and drew their blasters to fire but a sudden shadow looming over them gave them pause. Morty couldn’t help himself and he looked up with them and saw the flaming tower falling on its side. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Morty said and immediately shot a portal into the stage back-drop behind him. As he started to run it felt like time slowed to a crawl. The groaning of falling steel was deafening and there was slow-creeping pain beginning in his lower back and calves. He was lifted off of his feet as the first wave of impact hit, debris flying past him like bullets. The stage was beginning to collapse and he went to shoot another portal when time seemed to resume and he was hurtled through the elastic green light.

 

-

 

The administrative office was relatively quiet that morning as everyone worked at their cubicles. The Office Leader Morticia was making her usual rounds through the floor to check on progress and take notes. The other Morties and Morticias went about their business - nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly a portal opened up in the center of the ceiling. Everyone took confused notice at the gently humming vortex and wondered why it was there - 

 

**_WHAM!_ **

 

Morty fell through the portal and crashed lifeless and limp onto a now screaming Morticia’s desk. 

 

-

 

She slammed open the doors to the medbay and immediately started screaming. A Nurse Morty almost jumped over his desk in his haste to placate her before she disturbed the other patients. 

 

“ _ Where is he?! Where is TLA-91? I swear to fucking god if he’s not being fixed right now I’m going to light this whole motherfucker up _ -”

 

“A-835! Please lower your voice, we have other patients here-”

 

“Then I suggest you start walking or cranky invalids are gonna be the least of your problems!”

 

The Nurse Morty fumbled for TLA-91’s file and checked for his room number before leading the fuming Morticia away. He showed her into the ward for more severe injuries and had her wait in the small lobby as he went to see if the other Morty was out of surgery yet. He returned a few moments later to his counterpart glowering and impatiently stamping a boot clad foot against the tile. 

 

“T-this way, A-835. Try not to disturb him, okay? He just got out of surgery and needs rest,” the Nurse Morty told her with a bit of a snarky tone and beckoned for her to follow him to his room. She could see her friend laid up in bed through the glass wall and she wasted no time in running over the threshold and to his side. 

 

“TLA-91! Are you okay? H-hey, Morty!” Morticia’s voice was cracked and shaking out of concern as she reached out and pushed a tuft of his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. She willed the tears stinging her eyes to stay in the sockets; crying wasn’t something she did. 

 

“He’s just had surgery, A-835. H-h-he’s on powerful pain medications. You really think he’s gonna wake up?” Nurse Morty sneered, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the open doorway. Morticia slowly turned her head to inflict him with a vehement glower. 

 

“Hey cockmunch, get the fuck out before I rip you open and make balloon animals with your intestines,” she growled as tears formed burning rivers down her cheeks. A bit of satisfaction filled her sour heart as the color drained from the Morty’s face and he nearly tripped over himself leaving the room. With a tired sigh she turned her attention back to the Morty sleeping beside her and pulled a chair to his bedside. She collapsed into it and laid her head down on his right arm, holding back the nausea and twisting of her insides with worry.

 

-

 

“Morti, I promise I’ll be fine. They gave me medicine, bandages, even pain killers. I-I-I’ll be okay.”

 

“Seriously? Your leg is in a cast and your whole back is wrapped up. Also, nice black eye, nerd.”

 

“Oh geez…”

 

Morticia set the box the on-call doctor had prepared for Morty on his kitchen counter and watched as he wobbled unsteadily on his crutches. He managed to collapse onto the couch before tossing the crutches to the floor. He looked exhausted and irritated beyond belief.

 

“Dude. Morty. You need someone here to take care of you. Y-you can’t change your bandages on your own and no offense, but you suck with those crutches. H-how are you gonna fix food? Shower? Do  _ anything _ ?” she cried, exasperated. Why the hell were Morties too stubborn to accept help?

 

“Morti-”

 

“No! No. I’m not leaving until I  _ know _ someone is going to be here to take care of you.”

 

Morty gave her a confused and annoyed glare and eventually rolled his eyes with a sigh. He ran through his options while trying to ignore the sharp pain slowly creeping up his leg and down his back. It was out of the question to get Summer or Beth to take care of him - first, they wouldn’t be able to take time off work to coddle him, and second, if they knew how badly he was injured they would lose their collective shit and he would never hear the end of their incessant worrying. Also he couldn’t inconvenience his family - he never wanted to be a burden on the two people he cared the most about. An idea suddenly struck him and he quickly fumbled for his phone.

 

“Look, I’m calling Summer right now, okay? She won’t be able to answer me until after she gets off work but I’ll leave her a message and see if she can spend a couple of days here and help me,” Morty explained as he pretended to scroll through his contacts. Morticia watched him with hawk-like eyes as he raised the phone to his ear and started talking. “H-hey Summer, it’s me. Look, I uh...kinda hurt myself at work today. Was wondering if you could uh, um...come help me out a little, with stuff. Call me when you get off, bye.”

 

“Alright. You should be fine for a few hours, I guess,” Morticia admitted as she rummaged through the box and took out his medications and painkillers. “Now look, Mortimer is sending me on a mission to some planet at the edge of the universe. Can’t really talk about it because of ‘confidentiality’ bullshit but...I won’t be around for at least a week and I won’t be able to call and yell at you. So if I come back and you’re worse or dead because you didn’t let anyone come take care of you, I’m killing you. O-or killing you again. Or killing your ghost.”

 

She fetched him a Pepsi and made him take his pills. Morty listened as she continued to nag about him changing his bandages, cleaning his wounds, taking his medicine, blah blah blah...eventually she helped him lay down on the couch on his stomach, remote and Xbox controller on the armrest by his head. Before she left she knelt down and ruffled his hair.

 

“Be safe. I’ll see you w-when I get back.”

 

“I’ll be fine. Go kick some ass, earn that paycheck. Don’t get killed.”

 

“You got it. Bye Morty.”

 

“See ya.”

 

He listened as she walked down the hallway and closed the apartment door behind her. Once her footsteps had completely dissipated he grit his teeth and picked his phone back up. He dialed a number and waited for an answer.

 

“H-hello? W-w-what do you want, kid?” Was the gravelly, perturbed greeting. 

 

“I uh...I need a favor.”

  
  



	7. No Rest for the Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Wild Update leaps at you from the tall grass!

He was glowering out the living room window and squeezing his fingernails into the calloused flesh of his palms. The stinging pain kept him occupied, awake, and honestly, irritated. The meds had numbed his physical injuries to a dull, throbbing ache but his emotional wounds were still bleeding and festering. 

 

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.

 

Out of his peripheral vision he saw a sudden flash of sickly green light and heard the odd whirring of a hole opening in the fabric of reality. Then came slurred, gravelly singing of some awful glam metal song and footsteps that were way too heavy for the person making them. 

 

“Holy shit kid, what the hell happened to you?” Rick asked after letting loose a couple of short, wet burps. He wiped the alcohol drool off his chin with the back of his hand while staring at the angriest looking Morty he had ever seen. 

 

“Work injuries,” the brunet answered curtly, still staring out the window. “I need you to help me for a couple of days. Just until I can take care of myself again.”

 

“ _ What _ ?! Y-y-you want me to be y-your maid or somethin’?” Rick spat as his face crinkled up in disgust. “Hate to break it to you but you couldn’t pay me enough to wipe your ass, w-well...maybe if you had a couple million dollars, o-or flurbos. Wouldn’t be close to the worst thing I’ve ever done for money.” A horrible grin spread across his taupe face as he recalled enough questionable memories to last a lifetime, and Morty frowned in disgust. 

 

“Well I’m gonna vomit,” he muttered and shook his head a few times to clear his thoughts. “I just need you to help me clean my bandages and force me to take my medicine. And eat, I guess.”

 

“You can’t do any of that on your own?”

 

“I have a broken leg and an arm in a sling, even if I wanted to do all of that on my own I couldn’t. And I don’t even remember to eat when my limbs are fully functional and my back isn’t riddled in burns.”

 

“Wow. Pretty pathetic there, babe.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Morty snapped, the sudden vitriol startling the alternate version of his grandfather. HIs stony gaze drifted downwards to the carpet as an embarrassed and irritated blush spread along his bruised and scabbed cheeks. “Y-you’re not family and y-you’re certainly not my friend so don’t call me any of that cutesy shit.”

 

“You got it, Morty,” Rick said with a mock salute. He collapsed on the opposite end of the couch, draping a thin arm over the back and rubbing a hand down his face. “Huh...w-w-who would’ve thought that the almighty Shadow would need someone to wipe his ass.”

 

“You’re not getting anywhere near my ass!”

 

“Can’t wait to tell my cartel buddies that I scraped the asscheeks of one of the best assassins this side of the multiverse-”

 

“I-I-I change my mind, I’ll take care of myself.”

 

“Don’t worry Morty, I got you,” Rick said and ruffled his tangled mahogany curls. “Normally I don’t give a flying fuck about y’all but your uh...your Rick was alright. Guess I could look after his Morty, be a-a-a nice guy for once.”

 

Morty heaved an enormous sigh and glared down at his arm in its sling. Part of him was so pissed at himself for being so reckless, but the other side of him was satisfied with his skill and ability to finish a job. He wasn't sure why he was so nonchalant about nearly killing himself - it was either the drive to succeed or his casual nihilism. Either way,  he was content with dying from his profession. 

 

An enormous sigh pushed it's way out his mouth and he rested his head back against the couch. The painkillers were strong on his empty stomach and he was already exhausted. 

 

“Gettin’ sleepy, huh?” Rick asked as he stood up and stretched his wiry limbs. “Guess you should get some rest after your uh…exciting day. I'll clean your fucked up back after you wake up. M-m-maybe shove some dinner down your throat.”

 

“I'm not even sleepy,” Morty grumbled as he squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them open. “Or hungry. Just wanna…wanna play my 3DS.” His eyes slowly snapped shut again and he felt himself drifting off. He heard Rick shuffling around his apartment, opening doors and rifling through things. Eventually he returned with pillows and a plush blanket. 

 

“I just said I'm not sleepy. I-i-i don't need all that shit. Just want my…my.”

 

Morty’s voice tapered off into silence as Rick placed the pillows and helped his patient lay down. He propped up his leg and draped the blanket over him, tucking it up under his chin. 

 

“You're so fucking weird,” Morty said in a low, tired voice. 

 

“And why is that?” Rick asked, curious and amused. 

 

“You're all nice and shit. Ricks aren't nice like you are. Fuckin’...fuckin’ weirdo.”

 

“Shut up and go to sleep, ya little turd,” Rick ordered with a snort as he ambled into the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets. He found a box of vanilla wafer cookies and stuffed one in his mouth before slinking back to the drugged-up assassin. “Do I have time to grab some stuff from my place before you need me to carry you to the toilet? H-hold your dick while you piss?”

 

“Y-yeah, whatever,” Morty mumbled and stared dumbly up at the ceiling. He was oblivious to Rick’s sarcasm and even if he hadn’t been he was officially too tired to engage in a verbal pissing match with him.  He heard a portal whoosh open and the odd squelching noise of someone stepping through it. He had no idea how much time passed before Rick returned but he was still awake, even if the world was  _ real _ fuzzy at the edges.

 

He was still intently staring up at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating sight he had ever seen when Rick portaled back in. It sounded like he was talking to himself and Morty burst out laughing and loudly called him an idiot. 

 

“Excuse me? Ya little prick?”

 

“You’re sayin’ stuff.  _ Out loud _ . To  _ nobody _ ! Fuckin’  _ idiot _ !”

 

Rick stared at Morty as he descended into a fit of giggles and snorts that seemed to last an eternity; a grating, annoying eternity. 

 

“ _ You still there, Y-X25 _ ?”

 

“Yeah but uh, I’m gonna have to call you back. I have a feelin’ I’m gonna need all my patience to deal with my uh...current situation,” Rick sighed as he dug his fingers into the space between his eyes. God, he was so tired. 

 

“ _ But we’re right in the middle of a conversation about t _ -”

 

He ended the call and stuffed his phone into his back pocket. Morty was still laughing himself into a coma and now his bare foot was creeping up into the air the longer he giggled. He wasn’t a stranger to critical wounds and all manner of healing them and he knew that the best thing for the little idiot was sleep. And if the painkillers weren’t knocking him off then maybe they needed to be...supplemented. 

 

“This is nice Rick! Nice to be around, chillin’ with...being with a Rick again,” Morty exclaimed and dropped his foot with a muted ‘ _ thwump _ ’. His entire body was tingling and instead of pain he felt like he was wrapped in a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. It was almost like euphoria; wonderful, numbing, drug-induced euphoria. 

 

“Is that so?” Rick asked in spite of himself as he gathered a clean glass from the sink and a can of soda from the fridge. He was annoyed that he had to cut his business call short to take care of Morty but it wasn’t so bad - this was a prime opportunity to get into the Shadow’s head and learn more about his personality, inclinations, and thinking processes. 

 

“Yeah. My Rick has been gone for such a long time and I miss him,” Morty explained, his speech a little slow and slurred. “He wasn’t like other Ricks, y-y-y’know? He was kind and funny and only a jerk when people fucked with him. Or me. He was  _ super _ protective of me and mom and Summer. Anytime someone tried to hurt or take advantage of me on our adventures he would laser the fuck outta them. I was more than just a human shield to him...more than a cloaking device for his brainwaves.”

 

Rick felt his eyeballs roll into the back of his skull as Morty blathered on and on about how  _ amazing  _ and  _ loving  _ and  _ perfect _ TLA-91 Rick was. He almost felt bad knowing that it was those qualities that had helped obliterate him and his dimension. But that didn’t need to be discussed at the moment so he chewed his tongue and fixed the drink.

 

“-and we played that game over and over until we had enough tickets for one of the Ball Fondlers plushes. Pretty sure I gave myself carpal tunnel playing that many arcade games at once but it was worth it,” Morty said and stared out the window. His eyes felt hot and heavy and he wanted to sleep but he couldn’t; the nightmares would come again. An enormous sigh ballooned his chest and he exhaled until his lungs were empty. “Bet your Morty would miss you too if you died in a dimensional implosion.”

 

“Wouldn’t know. Don’t have one,” Rick replied, voice lacking any affect. He returned to the living room and helped Morty to sit up. He plopped down beside him and coaxed the drink into his trembling hand. “Drink that. Don’t want you gettin’ parched.”

 

“Thanks,” Morty mumbled and managed to catch the straw in his mouth after several seconds of trying. The tremors in his good arm grew worse the longer he clutched the glass. 

 

“You need to sleep, Morty. Medicine is all well and good but nothin’ is better for your body than sleep.”

 

“I-I don’t want to sleep. I hate it. I  _ hate _ sleeping,” Morty stammered as his hand shook violently. Rick raised his eyebrow in confusion and took the glass away. 

 

“Uh...why?”

 

“I-I-I can’t. C-can’t talk about it.”

 

“Fair enough. Just sit up and chill then,” Rick said and turned his head away, letting out a disgusting belch. The kid had drained almost the entire glass so it wouldn’t be long until he was dead to the world. A few minutes of silence passed before Morty started yawning and struggling to keep his head up. He didn’t object when Rick laid him back down and covered him with the blanket. He turned to go out on the balcony and call his contact back but a hand suddenly snatched a fistful of his jacket.

 

“Hey Rick,” Morty murmured as his eyelids fluttered like tired butterflies. His speech was now entirely slurred. “Thanks for helping me...really, really…’ppreciate it, Rick. Oh, wait, lean down. Got somethin’ on your face.”

 

Rick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes again and he bent down to humor him. Morty tugged on his jacket, making him wobble and he pressed his lips against what he could reach of Rick’s lips. The kiss was chaste and sloppy and Morty had missed about half of his mouth. Rick was taken aback from being taken aback and he was  _ mad _ that he was taken aback because  _ nothing _ took a genious like him by surprise. Just as he was about to push the kid away he felt Morty’s lips part and a snore crawl out. Idiot had passed out mid-kiss; what a fucking dweeb.

 

Rick gently pushed Morty’s shoulders until he was cheek-down in the pillow and pried his fingers from his jacket. He crept out onto the balcony and practically collapsed against the railing. The night air was cool and refreshing and calming despite the sounds of heavy traffic in the city streets below. His fingers dug out his phone and saw that he had a text message waiting for him. It was a simple message:

 

“ _ Three new collapses. Still no leads _ .”

 

_ God _ , he was so fucking tired. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Season 3 for throwing me back into this mess again. Short chapter here - next one will be longer and more exciting. Send me some prompts or ideas if you have them and as always thanks for reading!


	8. Burnt Out Stars

He was  _ furious _ .

 

Fuming to the point that his cheeks could melt iron he strode through a portal and emerged in front of one of the numerous properties he owned. It was a large, sprawling campus dedicated to everything related to the Pocket Morties fad. When the craze had first erupted he had no problem selling out his infinite selves to strangers looking to be the very best, like no one ever was. In fact he had built up an empire founded on the ridiculous sport in a dimension outside of any jurisdiction; especially outside of any influence of the Council of Ricks.

 

He retched audibly as the thought of those morons crossed his mind. Those pompous, egotistical cock suckers had capitalized on the venture straight out of the gate but last he heard a rogue Rick had annihilated them all. Still, he wanted his business completely separated and built from the ground up by  _ his  _ hand, by his  _ Morties’  _ hands. No Rick could claim a piece of his empire to their credit. 

 

And they thought they were the smartest beings in the multiverse.

 

He felt his eyes roll up into their sockets at that one. He had never seen their value - only the value in himself and his other selves. The only reason he had kept his original Rick was for appearances and the stress relief he provided when his frustration and fury became too much to hold down. But for all he knew one of  _ them _ was to blame for this current debacle and he was going to rip the life from their body the instant he found them.

 

The patrons of his park parted like the Red Sea as he passed, knowing better than to get in his way or stop him. He felt a small flare of satisfaction at the presence he commanded and the fact that every Morty and Morticia he passed averted their eyes. They were all more valuable than anything Rick, but that didn’t mean they were his equals. He smirked a little despite himself before gathering his thoughts again and focusing on the task at hand.

 

Just as he arrived at his destination his phone started vibrating and he considered letting it go to voicemail until he saw who it was. 

 

“What did you find out?” he asked curtly and watched as customers bustled to and fro, in and out, from business to establishment and back again. 

 

“ _ No-OOugh. N-not much. Dimensions Sinrar-Alpha, AM-19, and Vixna-K27 were wiped from existence yesterday. Can’t find any survivors. We-EEe-ll, escapees, really. No trace of any escaped Ricks, Morties, anyone. _ ”

 

Mortimer frowned down at the ground, free fingers tapping aimlessly at his eyepatch.

 

“So you can’t locate a single survivor? That is...unfortunate. Check the directory and send me all the information on the perished Ricks and Morties. I’m going to check to see if they might have ended up here.”

 

_ “You got it chief. I’ll do some uh, investigating into how they got wiped. _ ”

 

“Good man. If anything else happens call me immediately. You know how much I despise surprises. Especially the fatal kind.”

 

He ended the call and tucked his phone away, feeling the fury buzz just beneath the surface of his skin. Someone was fucking with him and he’d be damned if he let it continue.

 

The door chimed as he entered and he ignored the line of waiting Morty Trainers as he approached the front desk. The assistant daycare Morty jumped slightly upon noticing him and he hurriedly shoved his second in command into his spot to handle the line.

 

“G-g-g-good morning sir! It’s a pleasure to see you again! W-w-w-what can I h-help you with?” Assistant Morty asked, not observant enough to see the irritated twitch of Mortimer’s eye.

 

“Where’s Rick?” he spoke in a low voice so the whole lobby wouldn’t hear him and stick their noses in his business. His counterpart spluttered in an attempt to formulate a lie and Mortimer’s frown became more pronounced. God, sometimes he forgot how goddamn  _ annoying _ he was; did he really use to sound like that?

 

“M-m-my apologies, sir but Rick is uh, uh, u-um handling other p-pressing matters and can’t-”

 

Mortimer dismissively waved his hand and whirled around to enter the ‘Staff Only’ door. He didn’t have time for this. He knew exactly where the Daycare Rick was and what kind of ‘pressing matters’ he was currently tending to. Assistant Morty thought about giving chase but remembered that he had a pretty sweet gig here and all his body parts and decided to let it drop. 

 

The hallway was brightly lit and silent save for the hum of the overhead lights. He approached Rick’s office and rolled his eyes as the sound of skin slapping skin and dainty mewls seeped from behind the door. There wasn’t an ounce of patience for this fuckery in his body, so he reared back his right foot and kicked the door as hard as he could. The little yelp coupled with brazen swearing was a small bit of satisfaction, at least.

 

“You have ten seconds to make yourself decent, Rick! After that I’ll open the damn door myself!” Mortimer shouted and took a step back. He stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and impatiently tapped his foot against the scuffed linoleum. The sounds of scrambling and angry whispering reached his ears and just past nine seconds the door flung open. 

 

Mortimer glared, seething and disapproving, at the Rabbit Morty that brushed past him. How the idiot managed to visibly blush through all the fur was a mystery to him. In any case it was obvious that his bushy-tailed counterpart was embarrassed and ashamed so that was gratifying, at least. Once the Morty was out of earshot he strode into Rick’s office and started shuffling through the stacks of paperwork on the messy desk.

 

“Cordial as always I see, M-Mortimer,” Daycare Rick remarked as he nudged the door shut and dug a toothpick from his jean pocket. His shirt was untucked and he hadn’t bothered to buckle his belt yet. Honestly Mortimer was lucky that he had even bothered stuffing himself back in his pants at all. 

 

“You lost the benefit of my courtesy the second you started fucking my merchandise,” Mortimer replied swiftly and continued digging through the haphazard stacks of paper. 

 

“Merchandise, huh? Didn’t realize other Ricks’ M-Morties belonged to you. ‘Specially not to sell as product,” DC Rick sneered and ambled over to his desk, collapsing into the chair as it whined in protest. 

 

“Don’t try to high road me, Rick. I use my alternate selves to generate revenue and make them worth something, you just suck their cocks. Neither of us are going to win any awards for our outstanding philanthropy here.”

 

“Fair enough. So why are you here riflin’ through my stuff? Couldn’t just be visiting to bust my balls.”

 

“Where is your list of new arrivals? I know you keep a paper copy.”

 

“Why you need it? Don’t even think I updated it today.”

 

Mortimer glanced up for a second before shoving the forms, sending them flying. DC Rick spluttered and choked on the beer he had been drinking. He slammed the can down on a free bit of deskspace and threw his hands up in the air.

 

“The fuck are you doin’?!” he yelled and glared at the most insufferable version of his grandson he had ever met. 

 

“I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with your shit, Rick. Now muster up what you can of your functioning brain cells and tell me about your new arrivals!” Mortimer shouted back. His composure was gone - dimensions were being wiped from existence and he didn’t have the time to waste on an idiot Rick. “I need dimensions and types of Morties and the processing information of the Ricks that brought them in! Waste a single second more of my time and I’ll have you replaced!”

 

The pair glowered at each other for a minute as the tension between them threatened to incite a physical fight. Eventually DC Rick backed down and woke his desktop up, gnawing on his toothpick hard enough that it snapped in his mouth. He pulled up the daycare’s directory and printed out the list of recently dropped-off Morties. Mortimer’s piercing aqua eyes never left him as he stood and retrieved the list from the printer.

 

“Here. Every deposit from the last 24 hours. Knock yourself out,” DC Rick grumbled and Mortimer snatched the papers away. “We done here or you wanna trash my whole office?”

 

“That’ll be all. I’ll leave you to your ah, ‘ _ pressing business matters _ ’,” he sneered, using the list to knock over the half-empty bottle of lube left out on the corner of the desk. DC Rick felt his cheeks burn in childish embarrassment and he fumed silently as Mortimer left. 

 

-

 

“I have to do this.”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re gonna get sick and fuck knows what kind of infection you could get. Y-y-you really want that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Dude. Seriously?”

 

“Seriously.”

 

“You do realize that you’re down two limbs here? How are you gonna put up a fight?”

 

“I’ve killed targets with pure, sheer will before.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Y-y-you gonna argue with me the rest of the day?”

 

“Y’know what? Yeah, yeah I am! Because I don’t need your help. I can do this through sheer force of will.”

 

“Yo-OOough-ou mentioned that but uh, you either do this of your own voi-va-v-v, o-on your own, or I make you.”

 

“You can’t make me do any-”

 

What followed next was a seven minute long scuffle from the living room couch to the bathroom that ended with Morty begrudgingly taking a bath. Rick was nursing a rapidly bruising collarbone and trying to get the wind back in his stomach while the brunet was grumbling and complaining under his breath in the tub. It was imperative that he stayed as clean as possible to reduce the chance of his wounds getting infected. His bandages also had to be re-dressed but Morty had acted like scrubbing his ass was the actual end of the world. That was annoying enough, but it was even  _ more  _ annoying that he had managed to put up an actual fight against a strong and able-bodied Rick. 

 

“Remind me why I’m putting up with a little prick like you again?” Rick snapped as he studied the imprint of Morty’s fist on his collarbone. 

 

“How the hell should I know? I-I-I’m not keeping you here,” Morty replied with the same level of vitriol. The warm water was making his wounds sting and he didn’t have the energy to scrub away the clots and scabs. “I just asked you to help. Y-y-you didn’t have to say yes.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes and glared at him, irritated at himself and his lack of a rebuttal. Little idiot was right. Great - so he was smarter than him  _ and  _ he could still kick his ass with a broken arm and hurt leg. 

 

“Yeah well, I might just get the fuck out of here and leave your dumbass to rot.”

 

“Then why don’t you?!”

 

“You’re my fucking enemy, you little dummy! Y-you know what the bounty is on your stupid empty head? You know how much I could get for taking down The Shadow? A lot! Enough to not have to deal with another piece of shit Morty every again!”

 

Morty stayed silent. He let Rick yell at him and he refused to respond. He was just a Morty after all - stupid and insignificant compared to a Rick. His eyes stayed trained on the water slowly growing red with his blood. Goddamn, he was a dumbass.

 

For some reason Rick stayed and helped him out of the tub and dried him off. Helped him step into a pair of boxers, tug a shirt over his head, and hobble his way back to the living room. Both of them refrained from talking and it stayed uncomfortably silent as Rick dressed up his more serious wounds. It stayed quiet until Rick went to grab his meds and something to drink.

 

“So why are you still here, then?” Morty asked and stared down at the carpet, swaths of afternoon light filtering in through the blinds. “Shouldn’t you just kill me and cash in?”

 

“I should. But I can’t.”

 

Morty took the bottle of water and pills offered to him.

 

“Why?”

 

“Sorry kid, you already punched me and got me to lose my shit. Explanations will have to come later,” Rick snorted and pulled out his phone. “So what do you wanna eat? You get delivery here? Probably shouldn’t have fed you those pain killers on an empty stomach but in my defense, you put me in charge. So you want pizza? Thai? Gyros in the event that you, I-I don’t know, hate yourself?”

 

Morty buried his confusion and suggested pizza. He watched as Rick called his usual place and strolled out onto the balcony to make the order. Not a bit of this scenario made sense and he  _ knew  _ it was suicide to keep trusting a Rick, especially one that had motive to eviscerate him. But it was nice to have a grandfather around again and to have someone to talk to instead of an empty apartment. He could pretend, at least to himself, that everything was fine and he wasn’t running from the past that threatened to unhinge him. 

  
_ Focus on the present Morty _ , he told himself.  _ Just focus.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading, hope you enjoy, and see you next chapter!


	9. Patience Is A Hindrance

Who was the person that was responsible for elevator music? Who was the person that sat down, composed the most boring, mind-numbing shitmusic possible, and then thought, “Yeah man, this is good, this is _tops_!” How did that person sleep at night? Not listening to their own shitmusic, that was obvious. Also, the composer of waiting room music was equally as disgusting but honestly, they were probably the same, horrible person.

 

Morty was very, _very_ close to peeling off his own skin. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity at the office hospital as _all_ the other Mortys/Mortis got called back. He was already in a shit mood to begin with but being forced to stare at a tacky seafoam-green wall while teeth-grinding smooth jazz assaulted his ears was making it worse. _Much_ worse.

 

After a few weeks of not being able to walk and move his right arm he was ready to start screaming and crawling up the walls and ceiling like a low budget horror movie fiend. Mortimer had placed him on leave until he was fully healed so he hadn’t even been able to blow off steam through homicide. Most of his time had been spent playing video games, sleeping, staring absentmindedly at terrible television programs, and watching questionable conspiracy theory films online. Rick always stopped by at least once a day to help him function but most of the time he couldn’t stay for more than a few hours. He would always give Morty his meds (force-feed them to him when he refused to take them himself) and when he would wake up, Rick would be gone.

 

It was so lonely.

 

“TLA-91? Y-y-you can head on back!” a nurse Morticia announced suddenly and he glanced up from his depressing, moody, bullshit thoughts. Feeling relieved and aggravated beyond measure, he heaved his weight upwards with his crutches and hobbled towards the nurse. She was bubbly and chubby and dressed in cheerful yellow scrubs. She tried making small-talk with him but he wasn’t in the mood, so the trip to the examination room was just _slightly_ awkward.

 

“The doctor will be here in just a-a-a few minutes! I-I just need to take down some information first,” Nurse Morticia said as he practically fell into one of the uncomfortable chairs against the wall. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror and almost laughed at how _pissed_ he looked. And how badly he needed a damn haircut.

 

He answered the questions with as few words as possible and kept silent as his vitals and blood pressure were taken. He was trying to cling to the little shreds of patience he had left but there wasn't much to hold onto. The longer he stayed incapacitated the worse his bloodlust became. It had started stirring in him the moment he woke up in the hospital and now it was pissed off and storming around his head and chest. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep it restrained and caged up.

 

As if sensing this internal dogfight, Nurse Morticia spoke up, cutting through his thoughts.

 

“Bet y-y-you’re ready to get back to work, huh?” she asked as she typed his vitals into the computer. Despite his less-than hospitable expression and behavior she was smiling gently with kind eyes. “I-I see here that you’ve been out for a bit. Must be goin’ a little stir crazy, huh?”

 

“A little,” Morty answered softly and stared at the linoleum floor bright with sterilized white light. Inside his brain was raucous screaming confirming that yes, fucking _god_ he wanted to get back to work. There were people to murder and money to earn and traumas to continue to bury with literally _anything_.

 

“Alright TLA-91! The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes. Hope you f-f-feel better soon!” Nurse Morticia said and gave him a final glowing, warm smile before wheeling the diagnostics hub out of the room and leaving him alone. While he waited he wondered how the hell someone could _look_ like happiness - _look_ like the feeling of freshly baked cookies and cuddling kittens.

 

What did _he_ look like? Probably the feeling you get when you give up on something out of frustration, regret some insignificant event that happened years ago, or when you bite your tongue once and then keep doing it over, and over, the rest of the day. He was just about to tumble down the rabbit hole of figuring out what the other people in his life looked like when the door opened again.

 

“TLA-91! Nice to see you again,” Doctor Morty greeted him and enthusiastically shook his counterpart’s good hand.

 

“I’m glad it’s nice for one of us.”

 

“Hey, it’s gonna be nice for you to see me in just one sec.”

 

Doctor Morty ignored the irritated glower burning holes in his head as he sat at the computer and typed a few things into his patient’s chart. When he finished he briskly stood and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He gathered up a sterile syringe and small vial of bright, multicolored liquid. It looked like someone had broken off a nugget of a rainbow and stuffed it in the tiny bottle.

 

“W--w-what the hell is that shit?” Morty asked as the doctor finished preparing the needle. It didn’t look like anything he had ever seen before and it made him feel just slightly apprehensive.

 

“This is a Pure Curem serum. It’s uh, uh, its uh p-pretty rare stuff but Boss got it manufactured just for you. Woulda given it to you when you first came in couple of weeks ago but we didn't have any. Takes a whole lotta work to make it. A-anyway, one injection of this and you'll be back in tip top shape!”

 

Something about the Doc’s story didn't seem quite right but he wasn't going to question or worry over it. He closed his eyes and counted backwards from twenty as the doctor rolled up his shirt sleeve and rubbed his upper arm with a sterilizing pad. The needle felt like hot metal piercing his skin and lighting his veins on fire but the momentary pain was overshadowed by the feeling of heat and strength filling up his body from his scalp to the soles of his feet.

 

“That should do it there, TLA-91! Y-You should be good to go. Just gotta get the cast off and make you a follow-up appointment and y-you can be back at work tomorrow! Heck, m-maybe even today if Boss needs you. Anyway, how are you feeling? Pretty cool, huh? I-I love this-”

 

Morty didn't hear anything after that point. He didn't care. As long as he could use his leg and arm again and not be confined to his living room couch, he was happy. Maybe he could run by the shooting range while he was on campus - the Morticia that ran the range and armory usually got new stock in every couple of weeks. Would be good to exercise and practice his aiming after being incapacitated…

 

“You’re good to go! See? Told you you’d be happy to see me. Just uh, see the uh, see the re-receptionist on your way out to schedule that follow-up appointment. Be safe out there - the less we see of you the better. N-not to be rude or anything but uh, just want y-y-you to be healthy! Heh!”

 

Morty stared at his counterpart in unamused silence and watched him laugh awkwardly and shuffle backwards until he practically ran out the door. God, he was the most pathetic sad-sack across the multiverse and every time he met another version of himself it became more and more apparent.

 

It took incredible restraint for him not to sprint from the building but somehow he managed to maintain a reasonable walking speed from the hospital to the grounds outside. He was greeted by his fellow selves/colleagues and he did his best to respond with some sort of smile or nod of acknowledgement. The whole time his mind was racing and his heart thumping hard in his chest and his fingers drilling impatient indents into the side of his thigh. He made his way into the main headquarters and was about to take off for the elevator when Receptionist Morti called and waved him over.

 

“Good morning TLA-91! Glad to see you u-u-up and about!” he said warmly and pushed a tuft of chestnut curls back from his eyes. He was impeccably dressed as usual in soft pastels and way too friendly...as usual. “Heard about what happened. You got pretty messed u-u-up, huh?”

 

Morty shrugged.

 

“Wasn’t the worst job I’ve ever had. But uh, yeah I’m feeling much better. In fact, I was _just_ on my way to the shooting range-”

 

“Oh! Well that’s gonna have to wait, I’m sorry to say. I just got a call from M-M-Mortimer and he requested you come to his office pronto!”

 

Morty cocked an eyebrow and dug his phone out of his back pocket to check his messa-yup. Nine missed calls and a flurry of unanswered texts. Yikes. That was going to be fun to deal with.

 

“Huh. Alright, I can see that. Fine. Gimme the key.”

 

Receptionist Morty handed him the small silver key and waved him off with a bright, perfectly white grin.

 

The ascent up the floors gave Morty a perfect opportunity to wonder what kind of assignment Mortimer was going to give him. Hopefully something exciting, dangerous, high-octane with three lines of coke material. He was raring to go - ready to pump some lead into foreheads, slice open major arteries, slit some throats, bash heads into hard surfaces until they cracked like eggs, rip out orga-

 

_Ding!_

 

“ _Top floor, please exit,”_ the metallic, mechanical voice ordered from nowhere as the elevator doors whooshed open. Morty made his way to that familiar blood-red door, rubbing his arm where the doctor had given him the shot. It ached like he had been punched multiple times in the same spot. Didn’t matter though; his arm and the rest of his limbs were in working order and ready for action. He was shouted at to enter the second he knocked and found his boss yelling angrily into his phone.

 

Morty took his usual seat before the desk and tried to pretend that he wasn’t listening to everything Mortimer was snarling into his cell.  

 

“I was just there the other day and - what? No! You fucking troglodyte of _course_ I would have known something was amiss if something _had been amiss then_ ! Well obviously it wasn’t. This isn’t the first time it’s happened but - no. No. Not that I - of _course_ not. What kind of mouth-breathing idiot do you _honestly_ think I am? I’m done. Well then _shut_ your fucking mouth, _get off_ your fucking ass, and _fucking figure out who’s doing this_!”

 

Mortimer snarled and flung the phone as hard as he could. It went whizzing right past Morty’s left ear and shattered against the wall into several bitter, angry pieces. The sudden outburst was hilarious but Morty had to keep his expression neutral and laughter swallowed  because he was the employee, after all. Any amusement at his boss’s expense would have to wait until he was off the clock and far away from the workplace.

 

“You needed to see me?” Morty asked, breaking the awkward silence. His counterpart raked thin, shaking fingers through his chestnut curls and collapsed back into his seat.

 

“Yes. I need you to slaughter some fuckers for me,” Mortimer answered as he pulled information up on his tablet and handed it across the desk. Morty took it in hand and started memorizing the intel. “Once again my assets are being rifled through by worthless vermin. An entire shipment for my Pocket Mortys warehouse has been diverted and _none_ of my idiot employees can rustle up enough brain cells to figure out who did it. Meanwhile I’m out of a hundred grand of my _own_ money and more than _double_ that in potential profits.”

 

“So the fuckers I’m killing are…?”

 

“My competition. I’ve let them weasel their way into the Pocket Mortys business without consequence but now it’s time to send a message. Maybe they’re the rats rifling through my stuff and maybe they’re not. Either way exterminating them will ensure _I’m_ the only one in business and let the other perpetrators know I’m not one to be trifled with. And besides, I know you’re raring for a job and I want you to be happy.”

 

Morty lifted his gaze to meet his employer’s and saw a spark of madness in his identical emerald eye. He was smiling over steepled fingers and his eye was subtly twitching.

 

“I’m always trying to ensure the happiness of my employees, right TLA-91?”

 

“O-o-of course, sir.”

 

“So it’s only logical that my employees should also ensure _my_ happiness, right?”

 

“I-Indeed it is.”

 

“ _Exactly._  Now go on, slaughter those worthless pigs for me, and see if you can find out who’s trying to fuck me over. Because _that_ would make me happy. Being fucked with? That _doesn’t_ make me happy. And if _I’m_ not happy, then _none of you are either_.”

 

Mortimer was leaning across the desk so close their noses were almost touching and his voice had become low and dangerous like the hissing of a black mamba. Thankfully Morty knew how to quell any reaction and hide any emotions so he just sat still as a statue and stared into Mortimer’s eye(s?) with a blank expression.

 

“Y-your happiness is my number one concern, sir.”

 

“Don’t patronize me, TLA-91. Go do your job. I have fifty grand waiting for you when you’re finished. Now get out of my office. And have fun with it,” Mortimer said, suddenly chipper and sane again as he waved him off. Morty stood and retreated back into the hallway without another thought. Time to visit the munitions bunker and stock up on supplies.

 

This job was _not_ going to be easy.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Existence is pain and so is writer's block. Kudos and comments motivate me to continue writing this so if you want to see more go ahead and smash that like button and click subscribe. ✅
> 
> As usual you can find me on Tumblr under k0smiline so hit me up.


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